Drop Kick Me, Jesus
by DemonFox38
Summary: They were coming from beneath the Team's feet to devour them all. They were the Administrator's pets.
1. Chapter 1

**Drop Kick Me, Jesus**

* * *

><p>It had been a long time since the little black phone on the Administrator's night stand had rang this late at night. No, this early in the morning. So few people had her number. For a few years, she was convinced that the ringer had gone dead entirely. She wasn't about to give the phone up, however. It was an antique, painted with smooth lacquer. It had a rotary extension on the top of it, golden and shiny. Its ring was charming. If it hadn't been so late at night, perhaps it wouldn't have annoyed her.<p>

She reached over, lifting the earpiece from its cradle. "Saxton, it's four in the morning. I'm not in the mood."

The voice on the other end of the line was not a burly Australian seeking amorous attention. It was pleasant enough, she supposed. Low, sultry, feminine. There was something off about its speech patterns, like the voice had to plug in crucial words into its sentence. Clearly nothing human. "Hello. I am entity [DAISY], generated by the Rosebud Integrated Intranet. Please speak now to have your identity confirmed."

The Administrator was not pleased to be dealing with a computer this early in the morning. Not like it had a choice in calling her. It was part of a computer network set up by one of the Engineers. He'd originally intended it for use in battle, but after interference from his superiors and the other team, he implemented it solely as an emergency broadcast system. She could dock his pay later for the disturbance, but she decided to be civil with the machine. "Go ahead."

"Wait, please." It took a few seconds for the system to run its check. In the meantime, it played some smooth jazz that the Administrator found to be oddly soothing. The voice interrupted an alto sax solo. "My voice recognition process has determined that you are [THE ADMINISTRATOR]. Is this correct? Please answer yes or no."

The Administrator grumbled. "Yes."

Daisy began relaying data to the Administrator. "There [HAVE] been [FAILURES] reported with systems at [BADLANDS]. Electrical power is [OFFLINE]. Telephone connections are [OFFLINE]. Cable connections are [OFFLINE]. Radio communications are [FIFTY PERCENT][DAMAGED]. The cause of these alerts is [UNKNOWN]. [SEISMIC ACTIVITY] has been reported in the area. Weather conditions are [NORMAL]. Additional normal but unscheduled activities have been reported. Would you like to hear more? Please answer yes or no."

"Yes," the Administrator said. She picked a cucumber off of her left eye, placing it on the nightstand. She was quick to fling the other vegetable slice aside as well.

"[NINE] respawn activations have occurred at [COLDFRONT]. Respawned individuals in order are from team [TEAM NAME NOT FOUND] : [PYRO], [DEMOMAN], [SOLDIER], [HEAVY], [MEDIC], [ENGINEER], [SNIPER], [SCOUT], [SPY]." Daisy took a break from her listing to remind the Administrator of what she already knew. "Please note that respawn activation in any location other than the stationed troop zone only occurs when a respawn generator has gone unresponsive for more than fifteen minutes. Contact should be made immediately with team [TEAM NAME NOT FOUND] to confirm a respawn generator failure. Do you understand? Please answer yes or no."

The Administrator growled. This was not only an unusual failure, but a catastrophic one. "Yes."

Daisy presented the Administrator with an option. "I have a subordinate listed under your name. Would you like me to contact [MISS PAULING] with this information? Please answer yes or—"

"Yes!" The Administrator huffed. Damned repetitive thing.

"I will contact [MISS PAULING]." Daisy continued droning on. "Black box data has been collected for this failure. The last two minutes of video and audio data from [BADLANDS] headquarters will be forwarded to your personal computer and your monitoring station at [TEUFORT]. Do you need me to repeat any portion of this message? Plea—"

The Administrator stopped it before it got too far. "No."

Daisy concluded its report. "Thank you for your time. I am sorry for any inconvenience this event causes you. If you wish to review this report, please consult the automatically created document [] in drive [P]. You may now hang up. This is entity [DAISY] of the Rosebud Integrated Intranet, now ending transmission."

The line went dead, a cold tone ringing through the ear piece. The Administrator placed the phone on its cradle. She grimaced, wiping vanity cream from her face. Even if managing this war was her occupation, she hated starting it so early in the morning. She took fifteen minutes to prepare herself, going through her usual ritual of selecting a suit and donning her make-up. She unrolled curlers from her hair, flinging each one into the bathroom sink with disdain. Emergency or not, she had to look her part. It was rare that she ever let anyone see her as anything but her role.

After clipping her earrings on, she left her boudoir and entered her study. There was no reason for her to report to the main barracks quite so soon. She pushed the lights on, rolling the switch upwards until they were no brighter than a candle's soft glow. Her computer was already on, but she had turned the monitor off to conserve some power. She pressed a button towards the lower right-hand side of the screen. It flickered on, green and black text greeting her. Using this interface was a hassle, but it was better than using a typewriter, at any rate.

The Administrator tapped a command to open the communications program. Sure enough, an automatically generated message was waiting for her. With a few more commands, she began opening and monitoring the attached files. For the most part, they were dull. A two minute shot of a garage. Then a two minute shot of the kitchen. A two minute shot of the locker room. So on and so forth, all empty. Disappointing, particularly the locker room one. Some were torn up, sure, but not a lot of evidence in the way of what had done it. It looked like something had burrowed through the ground. The trails were familiar to her, something she'd seen before. Could it have been them? Last she knew, they were further northeast, and due to—

Her thoughts stopped cold. The two minute footage of the infirmary had the perpetrator caught on tape. There was a terrible crashing sound as the burrower breached the tiled floor, clinking following as ceramic erupted from the ground. A horrific scream followed. She watched the carnage without blinking. Two men were in the room when the onslaught began, and neither left. Tendrils with draconic mouths tore at skin, dragging those unfortunate enough to be standing next to the creature into its maw. Mandibles closed and crunched around flesh and bone. The monster was choking on the larger of its kills—that obese Russian—but had digested half of him by the time the footage cut out. It hadn't gotten to the German doctor. The monster appeared to have killed him all the same, a chunk of flesh torn from his throat.

She knew this monster. She'd named him Sigma.

It was the worst decision any pet owner could make. Given the footage, she had no choice. The Administrator had a suspicion that her flock of Mongolian Death Worms had developed a taste for human flesh some time ago. It hadn't bothered her all that much, to be honest. As long as the feds weren't coming after her, and as long as they stayed away from the bases, she had no reason to be concerned about this new addition to their diet. Now, they had made the mistake of making one the Mann brothers' bases their own personal nest. That would not do. That could get her fired. If she truly loved anything in the world, it was her occupation. No, the power that derived from her job.

That was it. The worms had to die.

/***/

Nothing was ever working right around here.

The Scout growled, poking the start button for the television set. He wobbled the nobs on the side, trying to get other channels or volume or anything at all. What a load of crap. Without his shows, the weekend got to be too long. Mornings were particularly unbearable.

Everybody around the camp had their own thing to do on the weekends. The Demoman could go through entire weekends without poking his head out of his room, spending most of it hammered and reading Tolkien knock-off novels. The Soldier never treated the weekend correctly, either. He spent most of it running himself through custom-made obstacle courses or cleaning guns, sometimes sneaking off to the nearest bar with the Demoman to make time with ladies. The Medic would spend most of his time tended to that flock of flying sandwich stealers or experimenting with new medical procedures. Usually, the Heavy would help with both. If there was one thing that nobody did, it was interrupt whatever the hell those two were doing together. The Engineer was usually up by now, off to fix whatever had broken over the week. If the Sniper hung around, he would spend most of his time sleeping in his van and poking his nose into what everyone else was doing. A lot of time, he just drove off into the desert and didn't come back until Sunday night. The Pyro? Well, he was a bit of a movie fan, but not the good stuff. Really crappy, poorly dubbed kung-fu flicks and 1950s sci-fi schlock. So, he'd go hit up the cinemas or watch late night programs just to see them. As for the Spy, well…

He just hoped that he wasn't having any new little brothers or sisters anytime soon.

"Such a load a crap." The Scout stomped through the hallways, off to the garage. They were oddly silent. Everybody else was still asleep, most likely. What a bunch of lazy slackers. He flung the door to the garage open. "Hey, Overalls! What's up widda—"

Weird. No Engineer. No Sniper van either, but that wasn't a big surprise. He shut the door, shaking his head. Maybe he was still asleep. He rushed up to the Engineer's room, giving the door a good couple of pounds. Nothing. Fricken' A. Perfect. Their Engineer was absent without leave, and the television had broken down. Fantastic.

Well, he still had his comic books. The Scout scratched his chin. It had been a while since he'd gone through them all. Maybe he could go out and play ball with that pitching machine the Engineer had built for him. Might be a little loud, though. Couldn't wake up those bums. No, didn't want to be rude or anything. Jerkfaces.

As he went back to his room, the Demoman emerged from his dorm. He was equally cranked up. The Scout snorted. "'Sup, Rummy?"

"Phone's not workin'." The Demoman mumbled. "I was gonna call me mom, but—"

"Really? TV's dead, too." The Scout scratched his head.

The Demoman grumbled, then leaned back into his room. He flipped his light-switch off and on. "So thassit. No power."

The Scout scrunched up his face. "I thought we had a generator or somethin' around here. 'N case 'a dis crap."

"I dunno, laddie. That's a question for the Toymaker." The Demoman shrugged his shoulders.

"Pfft. Good luck. Overalls ain't in da garage or his room." The Scout shook his head.

The Demoman asked, "D'ja check the loo?"

"Dude." The Scout raised his hands. "I don't look for other guys in da bathroom, 'kay?"

The Demoman groaned, then snatched the Scout by his shirt and dog tags. He dragged the protesting young man downstairs to the community locker room and bath house. It was dark, footsteps echoing off the tiled floors. The Scout stood in the doorway, holding the door open so light could get in from the windows in the hall. It was fair to say nobody could do anything in that much darkness. He flicked the faucets on. They still had water, but it was running cold.

"Dunno what ta tell ya." The Demoman stepped back into the hall. "Wouldn't go ta the bathroom alone, I guess."

"That ain't helpin'. Let's keep looken'." The Scout led the way to the kitchen. The duo didn't stop there for long. The Pyro was trying to work with the toaster, but his breakfast kept springing back up. He was so fixated on getting it working that he didn't even notice the other two people with him. They sighed, leaving him to his fruitless task. They swung next to the infirmary, where sixteen slumbering doves were roosting on top of expensive medical equipment. Nobody could get past them without disturbing them all. It went on like this, every public room empty save for a few stragglers who didn't know what the hell was going on with their appliances.

The duo went to the front of their base, sitting down outside on the steps leading in. The Spy was out there, smoking quietly and observing the rising sun with half-opened eyes. It surprised the Scout that he was still here. "What're ya doin' here, Frenchie? Thought ya were gonna go spend time with my mom."

It was hard to say which Spy was with his mother at any given time. Originally, she'd been seeing the other Spy, but that had been an attempt to secure info on him. Then his team's Spy won her heart. Then the other Spy started pretending he was his team's Spy. On and on. Three way love triangle? Try a tangle. Maybe the other Spy was ahead of him, this time.

The Spy did not say why he was not with his mother, at any rate. He looked down, his gaze steeled. Whoa. The Scout poked around the Spy. "What's da madda wit'chu?"

The Spy huffed, taking another smoke. "You do not wish to know, little rabbit. So scurry along."

"Can't be all that bad. What's the problem?" The Demoman asked.

The Spy lifted an eyebrow. "You do not see?"

"Well, the electricity's out. Water's cold." The Scout made a face. "Can't think how much crappier dis could get."

The Frenchman pointed his cigarette towards the horizon. "Tell me. What is out zere?"

Both of the Spy's visitors turned to face what the Spy was looking at. There wasn't anything too out of the ordinary. Just dirt roads. Mountains. The air was clear enough to see at least ten miles in that direction, if a bit cloudy. Further out than that was the enemy base, more towns. Nothing much to see.

The Demoman shrugged. "Nothin' much."

The Spy scratched his nose, taking a sniff. "Tell me, zen. Where are ze power lines ova by zat road? Ze enemy radio tower? What do you zink zose clouds are?"

Now the Demoman and the Scout could get the picture. Besides the Spy's tobacco, it smelt like another kind of smoke. Ash. Short-circuiting electronics. Some of the roads further back were missing power lines, poles lying snapped on the ground. The tower that was on the edge of the horizon was gone. Something black burned just beyond that. Those weren't just normal clouds in the sky.

"Is dat coming from da enemy base?" The Scout asked.

The Spy nodded. "Oui. Whatever it is, it is coming for us. And viz ze respawn generator offline, we are in serious merde. If you pardon my French."

The Scout was about to ask why the Frenchman knew that, but he found his own answer. "Oh, right. Da electricity's down. Yeah, guess it wouldn't work without dat."

"Not ze brightest color on ze palette, are we?" The Spy smirked.

All three men stood at the front of the Badlands base, not sure what to do. They'd have to investigate what was going on. Still, they had to wonder about this invisible force pushing towards them. The world felt silent and motionless for the moment, but it tore at their minds, like the ground was threatening to crack beneath them. The Scout leaned back against the barracks wall, shaking his head. He'd been looking for the wrong guy this entire time. The problem wasn't failing electronics. It was an invading threat. That called for a completely different kind of problem solver.

"I'm gonna go find the Soldier." The Scout said.

/***/

The sun was casting warm hues through the sky. Indigo night gave way to a brilliant violet, scarlet, and orange dawn. Thin, dark clouds scattered ribbons of gold light around their edges. Stars and planets faded away. It was gorgeous. The Engineer wasn't sure when he'd woken up and how long he'd watched this celestial show, but he continued his marveling. He huddled underneath the heavy plaid quilt, cool desert air seeping in through poorly calked windows. It would be toasty soon enough. If the temperature was the only thing he could complain about, then he was going to have to take up more offers from the Sniper to go camping.

A smile crept its way onto the Engineer's face. Warm skin was touching his back, a long spine against his own, separated only by a thin layer of fabric. Maybe it was out of habit or paranoia, but the Sniper had a tendency to sleep back-to-back with other people. He'd seen the Australian huddled against others, usually when the heating system failed in colder bases. Funny, though. He thought the Sniper said he was going to go sleep out in the van's cabin. Something about guests getting the cot. He'd folded the bed out from the place where it was tucked away, and they had sat together against the frame of the camper for hours. Talking. Laughing. Drinking. Or, maybe—

The Engineer chuckled. Maybe.

It was during his admiration of the view that a horrific screech came from one of the cabinets in the camper. The Sniper shot upright, instantly awake. "Bloody hell!" Half of his hair was mussed, sticking up and out at odd angles. The Engineer suppressed a laugh, rolling off of the cot. He was used to weird electronic noises.

"Just the radio, Mundy." They hadn't driven that far off of the Badlands base, but the Engineer wasn't completely comfortable taking off without some way for their team to communicate with them. He'd whipped together a transceiver for these get-aways. He'd rigged most of the team's vehicles to work with these radios, but the Sniper's got the most use by far. He picked up the transmitter, pressing down on a button to the side. "Did not copy that, stranger. Please say again. Over."

A woman's voice was on the other end of the line. "Sorry. I dropped the transmitter. This is Miss Pauling, looking for Mister Mundy. Over."

Well, well. Miss Pauling. There were worse people he could have interrupting his little vacation. "Roger that. Good morning, Miss Pauling. This is Mister Conagher. What can I do for ya? Over."

"I'm trying to get in contact with your base." She stopped for a moment. "I thought I had Mister Mundy's frequency. Is this your channel? Over."

The Engineer played with the transceiver's power source. He'd equipped it with a fairly small solar panel. He angled it through the window as they continued their conversation. "Right channel, wrong fella. How can I help ya? Over."

There was an awkward pause before Miss Pauling continued. "I got a phone call from some robot named Daisy this morning. The Administrator received the same message. Your team's base in the Badlands is in danger. Over."

Conagher leaned against the cabinet, watching the Sniper rummage for a fresh shirt. "Danger? From what? Over."

"Didn't you receive an emergency broadcast message? Over." Miss Pauling fretted.

That caught his attention. Emergency messages were supposed to go out through all channels available. Phone, radio, even televisions. Did he sleep through it? He looked at the Sniper, eyebrows raised. The Sniper shook his head. Neither of them had heard anything. "Negative, Miss Pauling. I'll have to investigate why it failed. Over."

Miss Pauling sighed. She sounded disheveled. "Get back to your base. Be prepared—it sounds like power, telephone lines, and cable is down for the entire area. The respawn's probably off, too. We were able to get in contact with the other team, but they had to be revived in Coldfront. Over."

Coldfront? Good Lord. That was nearly two hundred miles away, up in the mountains. Conagher and Mundy exchanged concerned glances. The Sniper grabbed his keys, ready to get the van started. He jumped out of the back quarters of the Land Rover, closing the door behind him. In the meantime, the Engineer continued conversing with Miss Pauling. "Okay. Wilco. Over."

Miss Pauling drew a breath, her voice shaky. "I'm going to have to go find the team at Coldfront. In case you are unable to contact me, I need you to communicate this message to your teammates. Are you ready? Over."

The Engineer replied quickly. "Ready. Over."

Miss Pauling gave him her command. "This is the Administrator's demands. Do not leave the area. Get the highest-caliber weapons you have available. There are five Mongolian Death Worms moving through your area. You are to make sure none of them leave. Suppress as much structural damage as you can. It goes without saying that you don't want to fail her on this one. Do you understand? Over."

The Engineer scratched his head. What in the name of Yahweh was a Mongolian Death Worm? "Say again? Over."

"You'll know it when you see it." She glossed over the details. "Make sure Mister Mundy knows about this as soon as possible, all right? Over."

"Got it." The Engineer scooped the transmitter off of the cabinet. "Anythin' else? Over."

Miss Pauling ended her transmission. "No. If you can call me back, do so. Over and out."

The Engineer exhaled, puffing air out the right corner of his lips. He got into the front cabin of the Land Rover, placing the transmitter on the dashboard. The Sniper already had a cigarette lit, eyebrows pressed down in concerned thought. He offered one to the Texan, who took it in turn. The Engineer buckled up as the Sniper drove back towards the main road.

"So?" The Sniper asked, hoping to start a conversation.

The Engineer shook his head. He drew another drag. "What d'ya know about Mongolian Death Worms?"

Hot panic flashed in the Snipers' brain. If Truckie was talking about what he thought the Texan meant, then—not again. Pinpricks of pain ran along his spine, following injuries long since healed. His knuckles went white as he clenched the steering wheel. There had been a very good reason he'd never told anybody about what attacked him. The only one who'd had an inkling of what he'd fought was most likely the Medic, and even he was mystified about the injuries the Sniper had sustained. "'Member that one time ya found my van cracked like a tin 'a sardines?"

"Ya mean, the one time ya went missin' for five days, and ya came back lookin' like somethin' a Pharaoh's mummified cat threw up?" The Engineer nodded. "Ya gave all of us a pretty good scare that week, Stretch."

The Sniper gave a nervous smile, sharp teeth chewing on his lower lip. "I was—well, I was huntin', yeah? Turns out, the bogey that attacked my van was a fairly large…" He struggled with the last words, stammering. "Y-ya know, worm might be a good word for it."

Conagher didn't need to see that monster to fear it. The damage it had done was horrible enough. This van had less than forty percent of its original parts thanks to that beast. Mundy hadn't been conscious enough after the good doctor had healed him to tell much about the story. Of course, that had more to do with the amount of alcohol he'd drank that night than anything else. The next day had been business as usual, so his curiosity about the event faded as his work increased. As long as he had his teammates alive and relatively happy, the Engineer was satisfied. He didn't have to know everything.

"Sounds like they've moved into our area." The Engineer placed his mechanical prosthesis against his head. "They might be headed for our base."

The Sniper raised an eyebrow. "They?"

The Engineer bobbed his head. "Five of them."

A lesser man would have whipped the van around and run for the nearest border into Mexico. Instead, the Sniper went lead-footed. The Land Rover hit a hundred miles easily, climbing on as it barreled back to their base. His last encounter was not pleasant by any means. That time, he'd been foolish and gone after it alone. He knew what the team was up against, and he wasn't going to let any of them face it like he did. Teammates had to stick together, after all, even if death only meant respawning in some random base.

Even then, death to giant man-eating monsters was preferable to whatever punishment the Administrator would have in store for them if they failed.

/***/  
><span>Author's Note:<span>

So, I saw somebody had a request on TF2Chan for a Team versus Graboids story. I figured, "Hell, I've done that before. I could do it again." I guess that makes this a Wonambi sequel, and possibly a Rosebud one as well? I try to write everything in one continuity.

The name of this story comes from a very strange country music song that was written in 1976. Crap. Time paradox! If you've seen Tremors, you've heard a snippit of this song. Remember the part where Val and Earl found that van in the ground? That was the song playing on the radio.

Where in the hell did I get the term "Mongolian Death Worm"? Because that's what Graboids are based on. That's why.

And yes, I'm going to parody that one scene. It is one of the most goddamn American things put to cinema. You either know what I mean, or you don't. If you don't, go to YouTube and search for "Reba McEntire Tremors." You'll know it when you see it.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, it was an apocalypse. Obviously. Now, as to what kind it was, the Soldier did not know. It didn't seem like a zombie apocalypse. If that was the case, they would have been discovered and disemboweled by now. The sky was pretty clear, free from ash and debris. Probably not a nuclear attack or a meteor strike. The possibility for an alien invasion remained, but it seemed unlikely. The bases belonging to RED and BLU were pretty advanced. They would have been the first organizations contacted by extra-terrestrial life, if for no other purpose than to be eliminated. It wasn't wrecked enough outside to be the rapture or Ragnorak or whatever religious end of times scenario was correct. So, what was it?

"Well, gentlemen, I can tell you this much." The Soldier lowered his binoculars, then shook his head. "I have no idea what's going on."

The Spy snorted. "Finally. He admits it."

Most of the team was standing on the front porch to their barracks, taking the time to eat breakfast and talk smack to each other while the Soldier tried to come up with a strategy. They were trying to drink as much milk as possible, hoping to get rid of the additional perishables before they rotted away. The Scout had dug into a bowl of sugary cereal. The Pyro was sitting next to him, still despondent about the non-functional toaster. The rest of the team was sharing a loaf of bread, preservatives strewn about. The Frenchman preferred a cherry confit, the Scotsman orange marmalade. The Soldier had a few slices with apple butter, which he shared with the Medic. The Heavy tried everything, fascinated with every flavor. He put nearly a fourth of the loaf away on his own. It was a pretty decent bonding moment. Outside of their impending doom, of course.

"So, what d'ya think we're gonna do, then?" the Scout asked between mouthfuls of cereal.

The Soldier scratched his chin. "We do what we always do. We hold out here until we're low on supplies, then we go to the next place."

The Heavy lifted an eyebrow. "You do not think we will fight, do you? Spy says there is fire in other base. They would not come here. They have problems."

"Well, we certainly can't abandon our post," the Soldier replied.

"Fair enough." The Spy hopped down from his perch. "Zen you stay here while we get help."

The Soldier grumbled. "Frenchie, really? A retreat already?" That earned the American a two-fingered salute from the Spy.

The Medic sighed, weary enough from his team's squabbling. "So, vere is ze Engineer in all of zis? Anybody know?"

"Not a clue." The Scout swallowed another spoonful. "Sniper's out, too. No van in the garage, anyway."

The Soldier nodded. "I see. Did any of you try radioing either of them?"

That question brought an abrupt silence to the group. Both the Medic and the Spy slapped their heads. Sure, the phone lines were out, and one of the radio towers was down, but it was possible that it was still working. Perhaps there was a battery-operated emergency radio in the garage. In an era when virtually everyone communicated via telephone, secondary methods often got overlooked.

The Pyro gave the Soldier a thumbs up. "Auhl ged id." He jumped off the porch, taking an outside jog to the garage. Group discussions and planning wasn't his thing, anyway. He was better suited for action. The radio wasn't too hard to find. It was sitting on the Engineer's work bench, the solar panel on the back aimed out a window. He placed the panel on the top of the radio, then trotted back to the porch.

He didn't quite make it before he sensed something off.

The Pyro had lived through a couple different earthquakes before. He'd spent some time in California, mostly just bumming around and fighting or starting the occasional forest fire. It wasn't as deep of a rumble as that. It felt kind of shallow, trembling just beneath his feet. He stopped for a moment, waiting for the sensation to pass. Sure enough, everything became still again. Must have been nothing.

"Mrrph prf preef pfat?" the Pyro asked the team on the porch.

The Demoman scratched his head. "What's he talkin' about?"

The Scout shrugged. "I dunno. If he's not runnin' around 'n settin' things on fire, I ain't worried about it."

"Thought I felt something, too," the Heavy said. "Little thing, but something."

The Soldier smirked. He snatched up his binoculars. "Well, well, well. Maybe that was what you were sensing, gentlemen."

A beat-up Land Rover coughed its way onto the barracks. It was going fairly fast for the old beast, screeching as it came to an abrupt halt in front of the porch. The Engineer was the first to step out, somewhat shocked by the impromptu breakfast club. He felt embarrassed, but he didn't have a reason why. The Sniper jumped out of the driver's seat, rushing to the back of the van. He didn't acknowledge his teammates. He was driven by panic, rustling through his possessions like a madman.

"Well, now. What is zis, may I ask?" the Spy grinned, his words slithering out of his teeth. "Did you enjoy your holiday, laborer?"

A new flush of color appeared on the Engineer's face. "It was just fine." Pushing his brief emotional flare aside, he got onto their dilemma. "Look, did any of ya get radioed by Miss Pauling?"

"Pyro just went 'n got the bloody machine. Ain't heard a peep out of it." The Demoman sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Nothin's been workin' all day. Good thing ya came back."

"What's all out?" the Engineer asked.

That got the Scout riled up. "Everythin'! No TV, no power, no respawn! Cold water! Geez, if you'd taken any longer to get back, we'd have to start makin' radios outta coconuts or somethin'!"

The Spy frowned. He withdrew a cigarette out of his pocket. "Surely, you saw ze radio tower is down, laborer?"

"Yeah. We drove past it when—" The Engineer lost his train of thought as the Sniper dropped his heavy tool box near his feet. That Australian was skittish, beyond his usual paranoid self. Pretty much everything had been removed from his van. Guns, knives, mason jars, first aid kits, rope, duct tape, flares, a bow. He hopped back into his van before the Engineer could inquire what was going on. Probably to get more ammunition, no doubt.

The Scout raised an eyebrow. "Geez. What jumped up his butt?"

The Spy smirked. "Indeed."

"Now, listen here, fellas," the Engineer tried getting his teammates back on track. "Miss Pauling says that the other team's base has got the same problems. Hell, they're a little worse off right now. Sounds like there's been some kinda attack on their base."

"I knew it! And now, the enemy fleet is headed our way, is it? If it's a fight they want, then it's a fight they'll get!" The Soldier leapt onto his feet, already raring to go. "What is the nature of our foe?"

The Sniper muttered as he threw another round of supplies onto the porch. "Not human."

That brought an array of confused expressions from the team. It wasn't like they hadn't fought strange things on a routine basis. Hell, ghosts and floating, dismembered body parts were standard fare for them. The Medic was more excited than the rest, leaning forward with his hands folded under his chin. "And by not human, you mean vat, exactly?"

The Sniper stopped for just one moment, almost out of breath with his scurrying. "Wot I mean is—"

That strange rumble happened again. The entire team froze, not sure what was going on. Color drained from the Sniper's face, his courage waning with it. The Engineer frowned, a flitter of panic hitting him as well. It wasn't like he hadn't seen all of his teammates frightened before. There was usually a very clear reason for why they were upset. A man had a gun at their temple, a knife at their back, a trap at their feet. That probably wasn't just a little earthquake beneath their feet, not if the expression on the Sniper's face was correct.

"Not much time," the Sniper breathed. He slammed the back door to the van shut. "Get everyone to the roof before—"

There was a small little sound that came from beneath the Sniper's van. It was no greater than a soft hiss. The escaping air was followed by a horrific screech. Something was beneath the van's belly, pulling its guts apart. The entire team backed away, moving towards the door of the barracks. Crunching and gnashing follow, mortal whines from the van continuing as it was consumed from below. Something snaked around the rear passenger-side tire, chewing away at the patched rubber. A small gasp escaped the team. It was a group of orange draconian heads, each no bigger than a man's hand, all munching away.

The Sniper said words than never meant anything good, coming from a hunter as experienced as he was. "Well, that's new."

"You're kiddin' me, right?" the Scout edged toward the end of the porch. "That's it? That's what has been killin' the electricity 'round here? No problem." He grabbed one of the Sniper knives, then stepped off of the porch.

"Youngen', I wouldn't be foolin' around with that," the Engineer said.

The Scout rolled his eyes. "Ease up, ya pansies." He grabbed the long necks of the worms chewing at the Sniper's van. With one quick hack, he decapitated the lot of them. Red-orange blood seeped out of their wounds. He threw the heads aside, giving the cowering men another face. "Geez, what a bunch a—"

He didn't get an opportunity to finish his sentence.

A black beak broke the earth beneath the Scout's feet. It blossomed outwards, separating into four distinct parts. The decapitated necks on the ground shot upwards, wrapping around the young man's ankles. They pulled him into the gargantuan maw beneath him, the beaks shooting up and closing like some organic claw machine contraption. Without as much as a shriek, the Scout was swallowed whole.

Even if he was physically the slowest, the Heavy was the quickest to respond. "Upstairs! Now!" He grabbed the Medic, tossing the German over his shoulder as he bolted for the nearest roof entrance. The Demoman was the next to retreat, babbling in fright. The Spy was frozen, his mind locked up with what he had just witnessed. Lucky for him, the Soldier decided to carry him to safety. The Pyro didn't stay put long either, grabbing what supplies he could carry from the Sniper's pile on the porch and hurrying away. The Sniper picked up some of his weapons, but did not bolt. He stayed still for a few moments, firing as many shots off as he could before the Engineer dragged him away as well.

"Truckie!" the Sniper hissed. "I've gotta—"

The Engineer shook his head. "Kid's gone. Ain't no way he could have survived that!"

The Sniper growled back. "But I—"

There was no point in arguing anymore. The worm had disappeared below the sand, only its beak remaining above ground. It continued tearing away at the van, as if it were offended by its presence. By the time the Engineer and the Sniper had reached the top of their barracks, the van was half-way dragged underground. With a few last violent tugs, the Australian's home disappeared beneath the sand. When the Engineer dropped him on the roof, he had no support in his legs. He tumbled to his knees, rage and terror clouding his senses.

Shaking, the Demoman approached the edge of the roof. He slipped his beanie from his head. "Poor lad. That's no way ta go."

"Don't worry," the Engineer said, patting the Demoman on his shoulder. "Our respawn's down, but the next one over will pick him up. That's what happened ta the other team."

The Soldier lowered his eyebrows. "You mean, those other bastards got wiped out?"

The Engineer nodded. "Ended up kickin' on the emergency respawn in Coldfront."

The majority of the team shivered at the thought. Coldfront was a decent location, provided that coats and gloves were available. It was a lot of work to keep heated, never the less shoveled clear and salted. For some of them, it was a pleasant enough location. The Heavy and the Soldier enjoyed the cooler temperatures, and while they didn't have nearly as much fun with the snow as their larger comrades, the Demoman and the Medic had a pretty good tolerance for the temperature. Everyone else struggled to keep warm, usually huddling around whatever minor arson the Pyro committed.

"In most ozzer circumstances, I would kill myself to get out of zis," the Spy muttered. "I zink I will avoid ze cold today."

The Engineer shrugged. "I'm not sure he ended up there. The system's designed to have us spawn several hundred miles apart, just in case of a major catastrophic event."

The Spy grumbled. "Well, zen. Suppose you should get to contacting Miss Pauling, non? Perhaps you can whip up a radio tower, while we're trapped up here like rats."

"Sitting around here isn't going to do us any good." The Soldier took command of the situation, like always. "We need weapons and a plan. No offense, Kiwi Cupcake, but I need a real gun. "

The Sniper sighed, puffing out a low roll of air. "Whatever ya do is foine by me. Just don't go ta the ground floor."

All of the men had a nasty habit of keeping weapons in their rooms. They usually weren't loaded for safety reasons, but they were there, providing both decoration and comfort. The men slipped into the second floor in pairs, each quickly gathering their own possessions. The only one that did not peruse his room was the Engineer. He got to work on the roof, quickly popping up a dispenser. If the rest of the day was going to go this badly, the least he could do was provide a little ammunition and health.

The Engineer pursed his lips, then grabbed a handful of cartridges. He sat down next to the Sniper, slipping bullets into his vest pocket. "Sorry."

The Sniper shook his head, staring at the mound where his van was buried. "More worried about that spastic little gremlin right now."

"It—it probably was quick." The Engineer slung an arm around the tall man's shoulders. "Don't worry. He'll be okay."

The Sniper tipped the brim of his hat down. "Coulda saved him, Truckie."

"Maybe. I wasn't about ta let ya risk it." The Engineer snapped his friend around, pointing at him. "Miss Pauling said ya knew how ta take care 'a these things. We're countin' on ya. Don't go testin' yer luck."

A dry, low smile slipped onto the Sniper's face. "Ya don't want ta do what I had ta do, Truckie. Trust me."

That brought a smirk to the Engineer. "I trust ya ta help us get through this. So buck up. Otherwise, I ain't helpin' ya dig yer van back out."

The Sniper nodded. He stuck out his right hand. There was a slap of a skin palm against a metal one, and then all was right. It was strange how much a high-five could fix. "Okay, mate."

"Well, if ya two dandies are finished slappin' each others' arses, we could get ta work!"

Both the Engineer and the Sniper jolted as the Demoman approached them. He had an unusual assortment of items, to say the least. He had his grenade and sticky launchers, as well as a few swords sheathed on his back. He also had a milk crate full of a variety of bombs. The strangest item by far was the fishing rod he'd brought up. It was bent out of shape, the metal beaten and nearly snapped in half. The reel was much too loose, wire dangling off of it. There was no hook to speak of, just a wide loop at the end of the line. It was useless for catching fish.

The Sniper smiled. "Take it ya got a plan, then?"

"Ay, mate." The Demoman grinned, setting the milk crate down. "Have I got a damned fine plan for you boyos."

/***/

Author's Note:

Whoops. I've been neglecting this story. I wonder what got in the way…

I'm curious as to how to handle both the Tremors species, as well as fatalities in this story. Technically speaking, I've already killed more people in the first two chapters of this thing than the entire first entry in the Tremors saga. I don't want to get too fatal, but I'm not exactly opposed to offing a couple of people here and there. (Sorry Scout fangirls.)

Anyway—back to the species. Not sure I want to get into Assblaster territory. I might swing towards a classic Dune sandworm, or hell, maybe even explore a Sarlacc pit. Because why not?

Sorry for making you wait. Hope you enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

The Demoman was quite experienced with eliminating gargantuan monsters. He'd devoted most of his childhood to destroying the Loch Ness Monster, and he'd been successful. Twice. Not to say that he did it flawlessly. He'd blew up a few homes, killed a few people. Still, he was an expert in his own right. It didn't matter if a creature was in the water or on the land. Every monster had a soft belly. All he needed to do was get an explosive into it.

"Ya two princesses go an' do yer own work. I've got this." The Demoman reached for one of his grenades. He set it on his fishing line, then tightened the loop around it. With one strong swing, he tossed the line out as far as it would go. He sat down next to the Engineer's dispenser, then began wriggling the line. It would only be a matter of time before that worm would take the bait.

The Engineer nodded, then addressed the Sniper. "Better let the others in on what ya know, then. I'm gonna see if I can rig up a communications amplifier."

The Sniper lifted an eyebrow. "No sentry?"

The Engineer shrugged. "Not gonna waste the metal, if the Demoman's got it under control. Other things ta do."

"Roight, then," the Sniper agreed.

The rest of the team was waiting towards the center of the barracks, all prepping their individual weapons. The Pyro loaded a fresh tank of fuel on his back, then tested the pilot light of his flamethrower. The Heavy had his beloved Sasha polished and gleaming. A dark smile lit up the Soldier's face as he continued to load rockets into his launcher. No such joy was found on the taciturn Spy's face. This was not a humanoid creature, so his weapons would do little good against it. Not that the Medic's load out was any more effective, but the German was in a better mood than the Spy. The Sniper rubbed the back of his head as he approached them, unsure what good their preparations would do. Never the less, he had to help them out. It wasn't like they had encountered this beast before.

The Soldier was the first to speak. "Well, well. Care to share what you know, Down Under?"

"Where would ya loike to start?" the Sniper asked.

"Zere are many zings we could discuss." The Medic began his interrogation, a wild glimmer in his eyes. "How big does zat zing get? Vat does it eat? How does it reproduce? Does it normally live in packs, or—"

The Soldier rolled his eyes. "That's not important stuff, Doc! I was talking about killing it!"

The Medic huffed back. "Zis is an amazing creature, is it not? I vant to know everyzing about it before ve destroy it!"

"Maybe you study it later, Doctor," the Heavy interrupted. "Is more important to secure base, right now."

Suppressing a growl, the Medic conceded. "Fine, fine. But I hope to do an autopsy later."

The Sniper began recalling his previous encounter with the group. "Well, it's a fast bugger. Easy covers a county in a day. Probably has a large habitat. Eats…well, ya've already seen what it can eat. Mostly large game." He paused for a moment, grimacing. "The one I ran across had these tendrils growin' outta its mouth. Not heads loike this bloke. Also didn't have that beak. Thick skinned bugger, too."

"How thick are we talking?" the Soldier asked.

The Sniper grabbed his knife, then began running his fingers along the flat side of the blade. He traced from the tip of the blade to three-quarters of the way to the hilt. "This is how far I had to cut it before it started bleedin'." He ran his hand out from the hilt of the blade, stopping a little over a meter away. "That's 'bout how thick it was from the inside out."

The Spy lifted his head from his thoughts. He pulled a face, disgusted at the Sniper's revelation. "You are joking, no?"

"No, mate." The Sniper shook his head. "Ya saw what it did ta the Scout. Poor bloke moight have made it out, if that damn thing didn't drag him under the ground."

The Soldier scratched his chin. "A sub-terrain predator, hmm? That'll be a problem. Don't think most of our bullets can go too far into the dirt. We'll have to devise a way to—"

**Ka-BOOM! **

The team dropped to the ground, covering their heads. Something hot and wet splashed onto their backs. Thick, fleshy chunks landed in piles around them. A thin layer of dust settled over their prone forms. It was a moment before anyone of them worked up the courage to move. The Soldier was the first on his feet, hopping up to a perfect stance. The Heavy lifted his face next, then helped the Medic upright. The Sniper jolted up next, followed by a dazed Pyro. The Spy was the last to unfurl, growling as he wiped slime off of his face.

Across the rooftop, the Engineer and the Demoman glanced back at their teammates. The former was cleaning his goggles off, staring over the side of the roof. The Demoman didn't bother to wipe the gunk on him away. He cut the line on his fishing pole, then made a loop for a new explosive. Several meters below his feet, a blown-open carcass lay in the desert. The Medic raced to the edge to observe it, gawking and stammering excitedly. The Spy was less enthused, instead settling on vomiting.

"That'll work," the Soldier said.

The Spy snarled, wiping fluid from his mouth. "Would you be so kind as to warn us next time, you sloppy drunkard?"

The Demoman snorted. "Whatever you say, your wee highness!"

"Gud anudda un a duff?" the Pyro asked.

"Ya, mate." The Demoman nodded towards their rooms. "Me door's unlocked. Grab another pole."

The Pyro was gone and back in a flash. He settled next to the Demoman. The two went to work, both men fishing together like buddies on an open lake. The Spy sighed after regaining his composure, then walked away from the mess. There was no need for him to get involved in this dirty business, particularly if the situation was already under control. He could go back to his room, lock the door, and try to ignore the reeking scent of gore and the loud explosions.

The Soldier gave the Sniper a light punch in the shoulder. "Nothing to worry about, right?"

"Suppose not," the Sniper nodded. He backed away from the edge of the roof, feeling sheepish. He couldn't believe he was so terrified of something like that. Perhaps that wasn't the right emotion. Wary? He shook his head, then settled next to the stair access. A growl escaped him, but it wasn't from his mouth. He lowered his head, further embarrassed. Go figure; he was covered in gore and starving.

The Heavy pursed his lips, confused by the Sniper's sudden change in demeanor. He glanced at the Engineer, then asked "Little men did not get breakfast?"

The Engineer turned his attention away from his metal contraptions. "Aint' nothin' ta worry about at this point, Heavy. We'll be outta here in no time."

"Is not good." The Heavy nudged the Medic. "Going to go get food from my room for itty bitty baby men. Vant anything?"

The Medic shrugged, then followed the Heavy. "I could use my camera. Zink I left it in my room. Pictures alvays help in zese studies!"

"Zen, we go, da?" The Heavy suggested. He led the Medic into their living quarters, almost colliding into the now clean Spy. His collection of immaculate suits was always useful for grotesque situations like this. He had a pile of towels in his arms. He tossed the Russian and the German two of them, then continued dispensing the terrycloth fabric around the team. He dropped one on the Sniper's head, then tossed another onto the Engineer. The Soldier caught one blindly with his left hand. He stepped away from the epicenter of the gory explosion, wiping his skin clean. The Spy hesitated for a second, then placed the remaining stack inside the barracks.

"When you two are finished, zer are fresh towels inside the stairwell for you," the Spy announced. Both the Pyro and the Demoman acknowledged the Spy's work, giving him a thumbs up. The Frenchman backed away from the edge of the rooftop, then stood next to the Engineer. He was getting anxious from standing around, wanting to be one of the first to communicate with the outside world when the time came.

Finding himself bored, the Spy struck up a conversation with the Engineer. "When you confirm with Mademoiselle Pauling zat ze Scout is okay, I will be joining him."

The Engineer shook his head, continuing to whack away at the amplifier he was building. "Always so quick ta kill yerself, Frenchie?"

"Pest control is not part of my contract. Zis work is undignified. Much sloppier zan what I face on a daily basis." The Spy crossed his arms. "It seems wrong to leave ze boy alone, at any rate."

"Oh, I see. Nothin' ta do with how bad the Scout's mama will beat ya? She ain't gonna be happy to hear you let her son get eatin' alive." The Engineer gave the Spy a teasing tap on the knee.

The Spy tried feigning some cold detachment. "She knows about her son's work. Is it my job to babysit him? I zink not."

The Engineer shrugged. "If ya say so." He wasn't one for pressing arguments. Not when there was work to be done, anyway.

Both men kept silent, observing their teammates for a moment. The Demoman and the Pyro were having quite the little party, going on about whatever crossed their minds. It was nearly impossible for the Spy to keep up with the conversation. Between the Pyro's mumbling and the Demoman's accent, it was hard to understand what they were talking about. He continued scanning the group, watching with some interest as the Soldier began teasing the Sniper about the incident. It was fairly light-hearted, typical American buffoonery. The Sniper was returning in kind, although he wasn't nearly as energetic. If anything, it looked like he was more interested in the scenery than the boastful American. Peculiar.

There was a sudden shift in the Sniper's posture. It was like watching a dog stop in mid stride. His back was locked straight, eyes darting across the landscape. The Spy narrowed his eyes, wondering what the Australian's problem was. It gave him enough time to detect the same sensation the Sniper was feeling. The vibration was subtle but large, like a car rolling by on a gravel road. He felt it pass from the left side of the barracks to the front. The Sniper stood upright, but did not approach the edge of the rooftop. The Spy nodded, now understanding. Another worm was on the move.

"How many of zese zings are zere?" The Spy asked the Engineer.

The Engineered replied, "Four, now."

"There'll be three in a second." The Demonan stuck his tongue out at the Spy. "Ya can go inside yer hidey-hole now!"

The Spy snarled, then moved towards the stairwell that led into the second floor of their complex. He'd just lost one suit to those damned monsters. He wasn't about to soil another one. As he descended the stairwell, he came across the Heavy and the Medic. Both were laughing about some private joke, ready to go back up. The Spy halted them, motioning to keep below. There was no need to get involved in a well-handed situation, especially not a vulgar one.

The Soldier tapped the Sniper on the shoulder. He nodded his head backwards, motioning for him to get below. The Australian grumbled, but left. The Engineer did likewise, abandoning his tower for the moment. The Soldier called to the front lines. "Ready!"

"Aye, Cap'n!" The Demoman grinned, already steering his line towards the incoming monster. "Don't ya worry yer little—"

"Mmph!"

The Demoman craned his head just fast enough to see the Pyro's fishing rod jump out of his hands. He'd had enough sense to drop the pole before he was pulled to the ground. Both balked, staring at the black maw opening in the earth below them. It was testing the air around it, moving its tendrils around the snapped fishing pole in its mouth. The Demoman maneuvered his lure over, hoping to tempt the worm to close its jaws. It folded slowly around the mess, taking the Demoman's line with it. The Demoman bit the line free, just fast enough to save the fishing pole from falling into the living abyss below.

Not that it helped him.

A wet ball of refuse sailed above the Pyro and the Demoman's head. It wasn't until it hit the Demoman's milk crate that they realized what was happening. The Pyro's crumpled rod sheltered two undetonated grenades, the lure that the other worm had fallen for. Neither of them had been bitten and digested by the worm below. There was a small crunch as the bombs hit each other, rod bits piercing the skin of some of the grenades in the crate. That was nothing compared to the earth-shaking **KER-POW** that followed.

The roar of the violent potassium-chlorate explosion deafened the entire team. The Soldier was nearly blown off the roof. He only escaped from his death by clinging onto the trim at the last second. Those on the stairwell between the rooftop and the second floor were tossed into a crumpled heap at its base. Even those on the second floor were thrown aside like limp ragdolls. Plaster and wooden support beams landed in the courtyard below, the front face of the barracks all but vaporized. Glass shattered from every window pane, leaving jagged triangles sprayed everywhere. Blood and various metallic scraps splattered all over the rooftop in a thick wave. Black smoke and debris rolled over them, sending the surviving teammates into sharp coughing fits.

The Soldier was the first to get any sense back into his head. He stumbled towards the blown-out face of the building. Plaster fell beneath his feet, landing in a collapsed pile of garbage below him. He knelt down, struggling to catch his breath. There was nothing. Nothing. Sure, there was blood, but no hands. No feet. No heads. Absolutely nothing.

A mixed cry for help escaped the Soldier. "Medgie!"

If anything fueled the Medic, it was the lamentations of the suffering. He leapt into action, wriggling free from beneath the dazed Heavy. The Engineer followed in turn, apologizing to two men he'd landed on. Both men flanked the Soldier, fussing over his wounds. He'd taken a fair amount of shrapnel to his chest, but it had not killed him. The Engineer picked metal out of his wounds while the Medic began sealing the cleaned parts shut. It was amazing that he'd survived at all. The Medic looked over the rubble, chastising himself mentally. He should have stayed up. Perhaps an ubercharge could have saved at least one of them.

The Heavy raced after his doctor. After making sure the German was okay, he turned to find the vile worm below. It had disappeared beneath the surface of the earth, churned sand and dirt left in its path. He growled once, then reeled Sasha around. The Russian roared as his darling weapon chewed up the vile worm's path. Dirt erupted from the ground as bullets drove into the sand. It did little good. Some blood came up from the ground, but it wasn't enough. His gun ran empty, overheated, and grew still long before he could finish the creature off.

The Sniper rushed to the Heavy's side, his hand already on his rifle. He hesitated, then stopped his draw. The creature was diving deeper underground, its trail shrinking as it continued circling the building. There wasn't anything either of them could do now. Both men turned towards the Soldier and his crew. He was snapping out of his shock, but still not himself. The American was quiet, teeth clenched. He looked like he wanted to take his shovel and start digging down to where those bastards were hiding.

The Spy was the last to emerge from the second floor. He paced around the wreckage, trying not to let his teammate's dismay get to him. There were worse things to deal with. Despite their horrific deaths, the Spy took solace in knowing that the Pyro and the Demoman were at least safe somewhere else. Perhaps even protecting the Scout. The more critical problem was the drastic damage done across the building. The Administrator was going to cane them for that, no doubt. Even worse to the surviving group was the lack of mechanical support. The Engineer's dispenser was nothing but vapors, his tower shattered.

"Anyone have any additional supplies?" the Spy asked.

The other five members looked like they wanted to rip his face off for asking the question. They had not gotten over their teammates' deaths quite as quickly. The Engineer shoved some nasty thoughts down, trying to remain objective. "I brought up what I had."

"Da," the Heavy nodded. He shrugged the belt of ammunition off his right shoulder. "Is all I have left."

The Medic sighed. "All ze rest of my zings are in my infirmary. Unless you zink my doves can bring zose items up, I do not zink zat zey are of any use."

"Probably got some metal left in my room," the Soldier babbled. "Couple of medals. Helmets. My bed frame."

The Sniper shook his head. He sat down next to the Heavy. "My stuff's six feet under."

The Spy grumbled. "I see. Perhaps our ill fated friends still had somezing of use. I will have to check."

The Engineer grumbled, flinging another chunk of metal from the Soldier's chest to the side. "Don't think I can build a dispenser outta this. Maybe some paperclips. Certainly not a signal amplifier."

"Well, guess there's no choice, then." The Soldier growled as the Medic hit a sensitive wound. The German gave him a stern glare back, and then continued his work. "We'll just have to go to the store room."

Everyone turned their heads towards the Soldier. Now they knew he'd hurt his brain in the explosion. The store room was in a secure area, certainly. It was meant to withstand a direct hit by an atom bomb, after all. Problem was, it was in the basement. Underground. On level with the monster burrowing beneath their feet.

The Sniper expressed the group's opinion. "Ya've gotta be outta yer damn mind!"

/***/

Author's Note

I've got to get better at updating this. I really do.

Not much to report here. Been playing through Tales of Symphonia again. Oddly enough, Lloyd isn't as nut-crunchingly stupid as I remember him being. Go figure!


	4. Chapter 4

The Soldier's lunacy and bravado was to be expected. It wasn't that he lacked the intelligence to know when he was diving into a suicidal mission. It was more like his spine was made of industrial-strength titanium. The team needed supplies, of course. The remaining ammunition on the team wasn't enough metal to make even a dispenser, never the less a replacement relay tower for the Engineer's radios. Their barracks were crumbling around them. Hell, the Medic could probably use a second hand with keeping the team healed up. Still, for the Soldier to throw himself into what was most likely a nest of giant killer worms was a bit much, even for him.

It got worse when the Engineer agreed. "Sounds fair. I'll go with ya."

"Truckie, wait! Think about this!" The Sniper snapped on his heels, locking eyes with his shorter teammate. "There's at least one bloomin' worm workin' its way 'round here! That's not ta say about where the other three are!"

"Well, Stretch, we're runnin' outta options here." The Engineer frowned. "Unless you've got some kinda hidden stash 'a supplies 'round here, I'm gonna have ta go with the Soldier on this one. He ain't gonna know what I need, anyhow."

The Soldier interrupted their dispute. "Hey! Don't sell me short, Engie! I could figure it out." He pressed a thumb to his mouth. "Let's see…screwdrivers. Screws. Duct tape. Wires. Wrenches. Screws. A table saw. Wood. Did I say screws yet?"

The Medic rolled his eyes. Clearly, he wasn't done taking care of his patient. "Ack, perhaps I should go instead. At least I could bring back medical supplies."

"Is bad idea, Doctor. If we lose you, we lose everything!" The Heavy stepped forward, giving his massive chest two pounds with his fist. "I go instead."

That drew a derisive snort from the Spy. "Oh, please, Fatman! Did you not see how fast zose monsters go? Zey'd eat your fatty liver before you even knew it was gone!"

"We're gettin' too wrapped up in this." The Engineer shushed his team, trying to get them to calm down. "It ain't gonna be more than five minutes, tops. Now, it was the Soldier's plan, so he should say who goes where. Let's just try 'n keep cool, alright?"

The Spy clapped a hand against his head. "Merde. Leave ze planning to ze one wiz brain damage!"

Ignoring the Spy's insults, the Soldier cupped a hand around his chin. Clearly, his team needed a leader. No problem! All he had to be was the loudest one, and he had the strongest vocal chords by far. Still, it didn't hurt to think this one out. Everyone had legitimate complaints that they brought to the discussion. It was best to try and plan around their strengths and weaknesses as best as possible.

After letting the plan simmer in his head for a moment, the Soldier nodded, his helmet moving out of sync with his head. "Okay. Engie, you and I will go down to the store room. We get what we need, then we go. In the meantime, we'll have to preoccupy that bastard at the front door. Not discounting your logic, Sniper, but we can only handle the threats we know about." He paused for one moment to pound his fist against his open hand. "While the Engineer and I are downstairs, I want the rest of you to run interference! Chunky, you stay on the roof. You've got that last chain of bullets, so use them. Eagle Eye, got any more rounds?"

The Sniper nodded. "'Bout twenty. Not includin' the ones in my pocket."

"Good! Then you use every last one of them. That brings me to you two." The Soldier turned to face the Medic and the Spy. "Fritz! You get Frenchie all nice and charged up. Frenchie, you will—"

"I will not!" The Spy interrupted, knowing what horrible demand was going to come from the Soldier's mouth.

"—lure that bastard to the surface. Make sure you've got an escape route planned. That's what you French people are good at, after all. The Sniper and the Heavy should be able to kill it once you've brought it up, so that should draw some attention away from you!" The Soldier gave the Spy a reassuring pat and a ridiculous smile. "You've been looking to get out of this situation anyway, right?"

The Spy slumped, his shoulders hunched. "Oui, but zat was because I did not want to get eaten!"

The Sniper tried to defend the Spy. "Listen, Soldier. This monster's probably sensin' us by vibrations. The Spy moight be able ta go invisible, but I doubt he can hide his footsteps."

"You've got a better idea, Cupcake?" the Soldier asked.

Perhaps the Sniper did not have an idea, but the Spy did. Without as much as a beat, he snatched the helmet from the Soldier's head. The American didn't know it was missing until the Spy was half-way across the rooftop. He growled as the Spy pitched his beloved helmet off the side of the roof. On cue, orange heads popped out of the sand. They began testing the helmet's durability. One of them even managed to snap a metal chunk out of the brim before the Sniper and the Heavy got into position. That wasn't quite what the Soldier had in mind, but it was working. He could hear the monster resurfacing, watching with bemusement as the giant Russian and the lanky Australian stood together and opened fired.

The Engineer yanked on the Soldier's sleeve. "Let's go, pardner!"

Both Americans flew down the stairwell. The Engineer paused to gawk at the monstrosity just outside the window on the first floor. It wasn't any prettier than the one he'd seen blown in half. The worm was writhing in pain, skin rippling like trembling flan with every bullet. He didn't dare to stay much longer. He rushed behind the Soldier, his short legs pumping as fast as they could go. With a crack of his elbow, the Soldier slammed the door to the basement floor open. Both men ran into the store room, destroying another door in their wake.

The store room was beautiful to see as a fully decorated tree on Christmas morning. Rows upon rows of guns sat in pristine lines. Ammunition was kept together in neat piles. Glass cases were set aside for some of the more valuable weapons. Antique pistols, family heirlooms, items so unorthodox that they were explicitly forbidden by the Administrator. Both men beamed. They rushed to opposing sides of the room, scooping up what they could. The Soldier grabbed a rocket launcher and two shotguns, placing them criss-cross on his back. He threw another belt of ammunition across his chest for the fair Sasha. The Engineer was just as greedy. As soon as he'd secured a fresh tool kit and an ample supply of metal, he began raiding. Not that he needed anything in particular—worst case scenario, he could always steal a shotgun off the Soldier. He grabbed two revolvers for the Spy, placing them on his hips. He snatched up a few needle guns for the Medic, unsure of what the Doctor would have preferred. At this point, probably anything would do. With a wicked gleam in his eye, the Engineer grabbed one of the heirloom weapons. The large caliber, the sturdy support, the sheer power—this beauty had to come from Saxton's personal collection. How the Sniper came to own it, the Engineer did not know. Perhaps it was impractical for most fights, but it would work well today.

As the Engineer strapped the last weapon to his back, he yelled at the Soldier, "Ready?"

The Soldier grinned. "Oh, hell y—"

The rest of his enthusiasm was cut short by a loud burst.

Grey bricks crumbled as a sharp, black beak cut into the store room. The Soldier leapt backwards, almost tripping over his own heels as their newest enemy bashed its head into a row of guns. The Engineer's jaw dropped, an awkward gasp escaping him. It had been bad enough to have been running away from that damn monster's brother when it devoured the Scout. Hell, even watching the monstrosity at the front of the barracks was awful. Now he could stare down its throat, watch as writhing masses no bigger than cow intestines wriggle out of its throat, each one directed with its own mind. It wasn't horrid enough that this beast could swallow a man whole. It was that it had mouths within mouths, throats in throats.

The Texan growled, then grabbed the gun from his back. If that damn thing wanted a meal, it could eat lead.

There was a complimenting smile from across the room. The Soldier snatched a shotgun from his side. Both men opened fire simultaneously. The Midwesterner blasted chunks from the worm's right flank, the Texan from its front. The worm's beak was resilient to the buckshot spray, but not so much to the sheer caliber of the gun the Engineer was wielding. It cracked the upper beak in two, almost disintegrating the lower beaks all together. The heads that hadn't hid in the worm's mouth for protection were pureed. Reddish-orange blood splattered across the floor, splashing onto the enraged Americans.

"Reloadin'!" The Engineer yelled to the Soldier. That was the bad thing about this particular gun. Two shots, and it was empty. It was powerful as all get-out, but it was clumsy to wield and had a poor range. Perhaps that was why the Sniper didn't use this weapon in combat. He relied on a faster bolt-action, a longer traveling course. He doubted the man used this gun for hunting elephants. Why else he'd have it, the Texan did not know.

The Soldier couldn't hear the Engineer over the sheer cacophony of the room. He didn't bother reloading his weapons. As soon as one shotgun was empty, he tossed the weapon aside and pulled another from the wall. His lips were curled in a sadistic smile as he pressed closer to the beast. The lashing from the worm's mouth did little to intimidate him. He went through a shotgun, a Reserve Shooter, a Force 'A Nature, a Family Business, a Frontier Justice. Every gun in his hand, every shot from his fingertips—something about the ringing in his head and the explosions at his fingertips made him feel invincible.

As the bloated, buckshot-filled worm pulled from the hole in the wall, the Soldier gave a deafening, victorious whoop. That bastard was on the run! He rushed towards the hole, hoping to pepper a few rounds into the coward's behind. It was not a second later that he realized he'd miscalculated the worm's tactic. The creature crashed a new hole through the wall, its head smashing the Soldier into a row of guns. He and the entire display were sent sprawling across the floor with the tremendous blow. He had barely enough sense in his head to recognize the foreign sensation of something rubbery and thick wind around his ankle and yank him forward.

The Engineer yelped as the Soldier was dragged towards the worm's maw. Damn man didn't have a lick of sense in his head! He reached for the Soldier's dropped shotgun, quickly wheeling the weapon onto his supporting hand. He made three quick pumps, placing the muzzle of the shotgun point-blank on the offending tendril. Blood splashed into his face as the tentacle was severed in a crude, messy line. The Soldier fell back, but wasn't down for long. He scrambled for another weapon, then aimed square for the center of the worm's mouth.

The worm shuddered as the Soldier opened fire. Every round burst in its mouth, striking the soft flesh around the wide hole in its throat. The Engineer backed him up, finally destroying the top beak in an explosion of black bone. It made an unearthly scream, the sound sending both men's eardrums into vibrating fits. Lashing out, amputated stumps tried dragging its prey into its wounded, toothless beak. Its tugs were weak, no stronger than a slight, sudden yank. With one last cry, it spat gore across the room, coating the Americans with the last of its strength. It raised its head one last time, then slammed into the floor with a sickening crunch. Blood gushed out of it, draining onto the ground like a fat, unstopped hose.

It took the two men a few seconds before they realized what they had done. Both men cheered, although neither could hear the other over the ringing in their ears. The Soldier raised his hand, and the Engineer reciprocated an action. If anything deserved a high five, it was that.

"We've gotta go check on the others!" the Engineer yelled.

The Soldier hollered back, "What?"

Shaking his head, the Engineer pointed upstairs. The Soldier nodded, this time agreeing "Oh! Ten four!" Both men grabbed the last of their things, charging up the stairwell. Just because they'd been fortunate didn't mean another worm couldn't come along and wipe them out. They were practically deaf as it was.

As both men raced up the stairwell, they glanced out the empty window frames. They were horrified to find a rapidly deteriorating situation happening outside. The worm had fully emerged from the ground, reared up as high as it could reach. Both the Soldier and the Engineer gawked at the creature. Its flesh was rough, uneven and spotted with random warm colors. It was easily as big around as the Medic's Kombi, large enough to easily slide someone as big as the Heavy down its gullet. Its tissue was rolled into the first floor, using the entire building as a support as it reached upwards. A wave of horror shot through the Engineer's nerves. It was climbing up to get his teammates.

The Soldier swatted him towards the stairs. "Get up there! I've got this!" Even if he couldn't hear him so well, he knew what the Soldier was getting at. As he dashed up to find what had befallen his teammates, the Soldier rushed towards the worm, rocket launcher already drawn. Shudders shook the building as the Engineer hoofed it. Either the Soldier's rockets were extremely powerful, or—

The Engineer yelled as he ascended to the second floor. The hallway was filled with the writhing mass of that monstrosity. Good Lord, it was much larger than the other two he'd seen before. He could feel the support beneath him straining to hold the monster's weight. It didn't help that the creature was thrashing violently, cutting itself and destroying tiles as it wrestled with whatever was going on upstairs. There was no time to waste. The Engineer made the last bound up the stairs, holding his ground as the front of the building trembled.

It was all too clear that the instigation team had the worse monster to deal with. Not only was it smarter than the creature in the store room and the beast that had eaten the Scout, but it had a hell of a lot of strength on it. The head of the beast was tattered, thick flesh hanging in ribbons around its face. Tendrils from its mouth had rooted itself into the ceiling and around the torso of the Medic. The Sniper was dangling from the roof, holding onto the Medic with all his strength while trying to slash the tendrils loose at the same time. The Spy had him grabbed by the waist, and the Heavy had the Frenchmen by his shoulders. The whole group was going to be pulled over the edge at any second.

The Engineer tossed his toolbox aside, reaching for the elephant gun on his back once more. He raced to the Heavy's side, almost throwing himself off the edge as he took aim at the monster. Several tendrils snapped under the gunfire, recoiling in shock and terror. The loss of their pull sent a shudder through the chain holding onto the Medic, almost as if they were going to fall over on habit. A growl escaped the Sniper, his teeth gritted together. The Medic gave a few sharp kicks to the monsters still biting into his heels. His boots sailed away, but the bindings around his waist were determined to keep the German captive no matter what.

Being out of the chain, the Engineer had enough time to realize that the entire mass of writhing tendrils was stuck around the Medic's belt. He hollered at the Sniper, "Mundy! His belt!"

The shout put enough sense into the Sniper's upside-down brain to get him moving. He secured his left arm around the Medic's chest, then aimed for the German's suspenders. With two gentle cuts, he snapped them free. He buried his face into the crook of the Medic's neck, trying to keep a hold on the Doc and maintain the blood flow in his head. He maneuvered his knife next to the Medic's belt, cutting the leather with a delicate sawing motion. Just as he snapped through the last of the German's belt, everything fell back. The chain of men hit the side of the building, stomachs slapped against its hard surface. It was only through the sheer strength of the Heavy's arms that they all made it back onto the rooftop.

All four men gulped for air. Oddly enough, the Medic was the first to snap back to attention. Perhaps his anger had something to do with it. "Ack! Mein trousers!"

"Yer welcome!" The Sniper laid on his back, his face bright red. He rolled his head to the side, asking the Engineer, "Where's the rocket hopper?"

Even if the Engineer could hear and understand what the Sniper was asking, he didn't get an opportunity to answer it. As soon as he opened his mouth, a blood-curdling rock shook the barracks. It was as if a giant ogre had taken a cudgel and slammed the barracks with the thickest part of its club. There was an awful crunch as supports in the first floor collapsed, torn apart by a strong torso ripping one out at a time. The space beneath the Spy and the Heavy fell as the second floor crumpled into the first. The Medic didn't make it far, the support slipping beneath him just as he got to his feet. Not even a final burst of energy could spare the Sniper or the Engineer from the failing structure.

Bodies disappeared beneath the rubble as everything folded into itself.

/***/

Author's Note

I think I covered pretty much every major stereotype from Tremors in one chapter. So…woo hoo?

I really wanted to say that the elephant gun was a .585 Gehringer, as it is an elephant gun developed by an Australian. However, I think the gun was built in the mid-eighties to early nineties, so that would clearly be a case of a time paradox.

I feel as though I half-assed this part. Let me make it up to you very soon…

Dialogue? What's that?


	5. Chapter 5

Yellow-orange light was streaming across his face, dirt and wood pulp causing him to choke. The Sniper gagged, then spat the debris from his throat. His spine ached with every little move. He glanced upward, banging his head into a wooden beam. How far had he fallen? What was on top of him? He'd been standing on the roof, after all. Unless the whole base had caved onto itself, it would have been impossible for him to be trapped down here. Yet, there he was, his back sending jolts of pain through his entire body and his lungs in full coughing fits.

Just his luck that he'd survive that fall.

The Sniper placed a hand on his head, trying to see what was going on. His hat was gone, buried in the rubble. A fresh strike drew scarlet trails from his temple, staining his left cheek. His eyes traveled across the dark recess, looking for anything striking. A glimmer of light caught his eye. The Sniper reached into the darkness, pulling out his kukri. Good. He placed a hand on his cheek, finding no sunglasses to adjust. He gave a small sigh, still shuddering with pain. At least he was alive.

But what of the others? The Sniper coughed, hacking out a cry. "Any 'a ya blokes still here?"

His question was answered by a sharp bite to his left thigh. Ropey and orange tendrils shot out of the sunlight, yanking him towards the horrifying beast waiting for him. It slammed him through two wooden planks, the blow dazing him. Half a dozen more tentacles wrapped around his legs and waist, some amputated, some still adorned with small mouths. An array of stinging teeth grabbed hold of whatever they could sink their jaws into. The Sniper didn't have it in him to scream. His brain was too busy focused on the massive beak splayed open before him, drawing him closer to a dark, humid abyss.

The Sniper strained against the tendrils pulling him forward. He slashed across the lot of them. Shrieking escaped from the mouths buried in his skin. The entire lot of tendrils collapsed to the ground like limp, bleeding noodles. He squirmed backwards as the beak of the worm reached out for him. It snapped twice, sensing its prey through the scuffling across the desert surface. The beast pressed him towards the debris, damaged tendrils seeking to snatch him up again. Three decapitated tentacles found his wrists, pulling him closer. Coppery blood splashed into its mouth as it squeezed fresh injuries. The taste re-energized the beast. It thrashed the Sniper once, knocking him off his feet.

Nauseating memories burned in the Sniper's mind. The smell of bile. Strands of hot saliva burning against his skin. The air being squashed out of his lungs. No, he couldn't! Not again! The Sniper stamped his feet, cracking a beak below him. He wedged his heels between two more, fighting back with every ounce of strength left in his body. He pulled his arms back, straining to slice off the tendrils once more. Everything the worm had in its throat was coming out to bind him. He felt like his flesh was going to peel from his arms, burst from his legs. He howled, the last of his strength threatening to leave him at any moment.

His knees buckled as the tension finally snapped. It wasn't the Sniper that had crumbled. A huge hand was wrapped around the bulk of the cords coming from the worm's throat, ripping them free from whatever muscles they grew from. The Sniper turned his head to the right, his jaw dropped. His rescuer's other meaty hand was clamped around the top beak of the worm. The sun shining off the dome of the Heavy's head nearly blinded him, a solar deity in the darkest of days.

The Heavy stomped into the beak where the Sniper had wedged his foot. He gave one bellow. "We kill it! Now!"

No arguing with that! The Sniper drew his knife, quickly assessing the weakest point in the worm's mouth. Perhaps any hack would have started slashing away at any soft tissue they could find. No, that wasn't enough for two expert hunters. The Sniper jammed his knife into the left side of its cheek, just between the top beak and the three smaller lower beaks. Muscle fought against him as he drove on through the beast. He didn't have to cut far. As soon as the monster couldn't work its beaks, the Heavy took over. With a mighty roar and a horrific squelch, the Heavy peeled the upper beak to the right. Flesh ripped from the front of the worm's body, black bile and tangerine blood erupting like geysers from its flesh. It burst across both men, coughing its last spiteful breaths into the sky.

With one last wheeze, it perished.

Had the Sniper had less resolve, he would have fainted clean away. He managed to find enough strength to limp towards the Heavy. The Russian shook with laughter, adrenaline making his oversized simian heart shudder with excitement. He threw an arm around the Sniper's aching back, giving the Australian a bear hug. "You did well!"

"Nah, mate. Was all you." The Sniper lowered his head, panting and shaking. "Owe ya a bloody Barbie, 's what."

The Heavy hoisted the Sniper up by his vest, trying to keep the Australian conscious. "Is not time to rest. Must find others."

The Sniper nodded. "Too roight, mate."

Both men turned to stare at the ruined building that was once their home. The face of the barracks had been ripped away, lying in heaps on the ground. The roof was completely gone. The Sniper shuddered, dread washing over his brain. They couldn't stay on the ground long, not if two more worms were in the area. There was no good place to fight from. If the Doctor and Truckie were gone, then he was sunk as well. The Heavy was a strong fellow, in much better shape at the moment. Even he wouldn't last the day without either of them.

The Heavy spear-headed the search, bellowing at the top of his lungs. He called for each of his missing teammates, slow to approach the wreckage. The Sniper limped behind him, hot blood rolling down his legs. He bit down, trying to focus on the rubble. Someone had to have survived. If he was strong enough, so were—

A hand burst out of the ruins, scratching at the surface. The Sniper rushed to the ground, landing on his knees as he started digging his teammate out. He threw ruined lumber aside, maneuvering around the pile to let the sunlight in. Its guidance revealed dark leather gloves, a white dress shirt, pinstripes. The Sniper dug faster, finding a growling Frenchman pinned below. He dug the debris aside, then leant the Spy his hands. The Spy grabbed him by the shoulders, then stumbled out.

"Glad ta see ya," the Sniper panted.

The Spy growled. "Likewise. I suppose." He glanced down, then grumbled. "Your blood does not match my suit."

The Frenchmen and the Australian were interrupted by a rather boisterous scolding. It was not meant for them. Rather, it was meant for the Russian digging the speaker free. "I don't need your socialized help, Commie! I'll dig myself out!" They glanced at the Heavy, who was staring dumb founded at the ungrateful American at his feet. He shrugged, ignoring the Soldier's yelling as he threw bricks and wood aside.

"If you are fine, I will go find Medic," the Heavy said. To be honest, the American could get himself out the rest of the way. The Soldier grumbled something quietly, probably some kind of thankful message that he was too proud to let anyone else hear. With a final shove and a quick dusting, the Soldier jumped his way to freedom.

The Soldier paused long enough to stare at the Australian and the Frenchmen. "What in the hell happened to you two?" He turned his head to the left, then uttered a surprised yelp at the carcass lying in front of the barracks. "Sweet William Howard Taft's bathtub! How in the hell did you guys do that?"

"Is called teamwork," the Heavy replied. He scrambled onto the pile of rubble, then started calling for the last two teammates. "Doctor! Engineer! Speak, now!"

A faint response came from beneath the Heavy's feet. He began tossing wooden beams aside as if they weighed no more than pillows. The Soldier was quick to join him, digging through garbage with his bare hands. The Spy stood back, wary of what they were going to discover. The Sniper tried to climb up to their level, but his legs would not cooperate, burning with each step. It was alright. They had it under control. Just a little longer.

Two rubber gloves clawed their way out of the debris. The Russian grabbed one arm, the Soldier the other. They lifted the Medic out of the rubble. The fall had not been as kind to him. Thick splinters were stuck in his unprotected thighs, dust caked over bloody wounds. He began picking the wounds clean, hissing and spitting in German. The Heavy carried him down, placing him on a half-split bench. As soon as he was okay, the rest of the team would be, too.

As the Heavy and the Spy helped the Medic clean himself up, the Soldier and the Sniper returned to the pile. The Soldier did the yelling for the Sniper, the Australian's energy fading fast. His normally reddened skin was sheet-white, his eyes sunken. The Soldier snarled, unwilling to surrender any man. "Engie! Call back, you bastard! You're not done yet, private! You've got work to do!"

Words did not report back to the Soldier. Actions did. The Sniper saw it first, the tiniest of scratches from where the front lobby once was. He threw himself towards the moving rubble, digging as fast as he could. The Soldier was quickly on his heels, shoving dirt and debris aside. A metallic prosthesis jutted from the wreckage, squeezing at the air. The Sniper grabbed onto it. It clenched around his hand, powerful but gentle with its grasp. He repositioned his legs, pulling with the last of his energy. The Soldier leaned forward, hands thrust into the refuse. He gave one last tug, then the Engineer popped free.

An incredible sense of awe washed over the Sniper. They had all survived. All of them! He laughed once, a bright bark that surprised both Americans. That feeling of invincibility and luck faded fast, mutating into something else. No, this wasn't joy. This was dizziness. Illness. Blood loss hijacking his ethics, his emotions. The Sniper toppled backwards, chuckling on the earth. Ah, but at least they were okay.

The Soldier shook his head. "Sissified maggot."

/***/

It wasn't until around the middle of the afternoon that the team had anything close to another development. They were huddled into the Medic's infirmary. By no means was it the safest place for them to be, especially with subterranean hunters on the loose. It was the least damaged wing in the barracks. The rooms on the second floor were stable long enough for the Spy to secure some extra clothing for the Medic. After he'd gotten downstairs, the entire floor collapsed like a card house. The Engineer was able to get a dispenser up and running, as well as a sentry. Just in case. Most of his time was spent working on his amplifier, although he spared a couple of seconds to check on the Sniper. Bastard had a nasty habit for sleeping his injuries off. The Medic had gotten everyone cleaned and patched up. The Soldier was rather bored, but he'd managed to repair and restock everyone's weapons. Well, all of them except for Sasha, of course. The Heavy was alternating between cleaning his precious minigun and staring at the sky, stopping only long enough to prepare sandwiches for lunch.

"Is strange, Doctor. Doves are back," the Heavy noted.

The Medic nodded. He gave the bird on his shoulder a slight nuzzle. "Ve are in luck, zen. Zey always leave ven zese fights break out. Usually, zey hide in ze rafters."

The Engineer paused in his work. "No tellin' when those monsters'll rear their ugly heads. Best ta listen ta nature, I suppose."

"Yeah? Well, I don't want to wait around forever! I want these worms dead! I want their heads mounted on the wall!" The Soldier growled, threatening to go into a full-blown speech. "I do not tolerate the existence of anything—and I mean anything—that attacks my men!"

The Spy lifted an eyebrow, lounging across one of the gurneys. "You are taking zis very personally, my American friend. Tell me, do you have any whales that you've got a vendetta against as well?"

"Don't tell me this doesn't piss you off!" the Soldier exclaimed.

The Spy shrugged. "Zey are just animals. Zey don't understand zings like revenge. It is useless to have a grudge against zem."

The Sniper grumbled, still half asleep. "Could ya blokes keep it down?"

"Oh! Excusez-moi, belle au bois dormant! I did not realize zat I was disturbing you!" The Spy gave a cheeky grin, more or less aiming to rub the Sniper the wrong way. The Sniper didn't really respond to his taunts. Just murmurs while he dozed. Well, that certainly was no fun.

The Heavy didn't stand for the Sniper's laziness. He grabbed a sandwich, then dangled it in front of the Australian's nose. "Little man is better! No crying. Get up." A low sigh escaped the Sniper, but he complied. The Russian was right. Everyone else was ready for another round. He might as well pull himself up by his bootstraps. He sat up, then started gnawing on the sandwich. Bologna was not his favorite luncheon meat, but it would do. At least his stomach would quiet down.

The Engineer grabbed another handful of metal and his second sandwich. "Ain't much longer, fellas. I get this tower rigged up to a couple 'a solar panels from the garage, and we'll be right as rain."

The Soldier beamed, grabbing onto the radio. God bless American-made electronics. They certainly were sturdy. "Hopefully, when we contact Miss Pauling, she'll be with that other team! Then we can rub their noses in our success!"

The Medic scoffed at the Soldier's childishness. "Ve have not done so vell ourselves, you know. Ve'll be lucky if zese creatures left our battlefield alone. Zis will take weeks to repair!"

"Well, I ain't doin' it," the Engineer laughed. "The Administrator always seems ta find some schmuck ta fix these things."

The Spy scratched his chin. "Perhaps we can negotiate a little bit of extra money for zis job?"

The Sniper shook his head. "I ain't askin'. This one's personal, far as I'm concerned."

"Don't tell me zat you are as vindictive as ze Soldier." The Spy clicked his tongue, as if he was pitying a small child.

The Soldier growled, spitting pieces of sandwich as he was talking. "Hey! My reasons for revenge are logical and justified!"

"Oh, really? Name zem," the Spy egged on the Soldier.

As the American raised his hand to respond, a strange hiss filled the infirmary. It was coming from the radio in the Soldier's lap. The team rushed around the object, all waiting with baited breath. The Engineer shooed them back, setting the frequency and aiming the solar panel towards the windows. They sat on three gurneys side to side, chewing on their lunch as the Engineer fine-tuned the radio. With one last splatter of static, the channel became clear.

The Engineer raised the receiver and gave it a squeeze. "Miss Pauling? If yer there, please answer us. Over."

Silence flooded the room. Not even the doves cooed. Seconds ticked on like hours. The Heavy's grimace grew longer, the Spy's fingers more impatient. The Engineer began to wonder if he'd had the right channel. He checked it one more time, but it looked to be fine. The Medic sighed, his soft expression speaking for the whole team. Perhaps not yet.

"Couple more minutes," the Engineer murmured. "Just a little more, and—"

The radio crackled to life. "—ere! I'm here! Geez, every time that I leave anything alone—"

The joyful whoop that escaped the infirmary could have scared off any monster.

/***/

Author's Note:

It's not every day I do a back-to-back chapter update, but I had to get this off my chest.

Not much to say, anyway. Just that I really, really should write more Heavy.


	6. Chapter 6

The calm voice from the hissing radio put the remaining team members at ease. Finally, a victory! Not that their work so far hadn't been successful, but they had lost quite a bit to get this far. All three of their missing teammates had been taken from them by accidents, minor miscalculations. Their base was destroyed, its face crushed into a heap. Those that remained were short supplied, apprehensive. To hear Miss Pauling on the other end of their communications was a reward. There was a world outside of the sandy, crumbling battlefield.

"I was wondering what had happened to you all! It was an awfully quiet morning. Over," Miss Pauling said.

The Engineer smirked, pushing his helmet back. "We haven't had it easy. We've lost the Scout, the Demoman, and the Pyro. If ya could tell us where they landed, we'd rest a little better off. Over."

There was a pause on the other end. "I don't think I can do that for you right now. Over."

Jerking the receiver out of the Engineer's hands, the Soldier took over the conversation. "What do you mean by that? I demand to know where each and every one of my teammates are! Over!"

"Ah, but do you not see, simpleton? She's trying to keep zem safe from us."

The voice on the other end of the radio was familiar. It was a mirrored reflection of the Spy's own voice, but something was off about it. His volume was lower, his tone softer. It only served to hide the hate and resentment buried in the speaker's voice, like knives in his sleeves. The team bristled at the enemy Spy's intrusion into their conversation.

The Soldier was especially livid, spittle flying from his lips. Radio protocol quickly broke down. "If you've touched one hair on her head with your slimy frog fingertips, I'll—"

"Now, now, Soldier! She is my fellow employee as well, non? I wouldn't dream of such a zing." The enemy Spy had a good chuckle at the expense of the excitable American. "Now, your little teammates, on ze other hand…"

There was a scuffle on the other end of the line, and then Miss Pauling came back. "Do you mind? Sorry about that. Over."

The Engineer stole the transmitter back from the Soldier. "All's a-okay. Just let us know after we're done here. I'm guessin' we can beat them back to...wherever they are. Over."

"How far have you gotten? Over," Miss Pauling asked.

"Three outta five." The Engineer proceeded to give her a blow by blow account. "Ol' One Eye took care 'a the first one. Jane and I killed another one in our supply room. The Big Guy 'n Stretch got the last. Our base took a hell of a beatin', though. Over."

The team smiled as Miss Pauling showered praise on them. "I knew I could count on you guys! What's your next plan? Over."

Everyone stopped in mid-thought. Plan? They had some time to think in the infirmary, but they hadn't been planning their next move. Up until this point, the monsters had come out to meet them. They hadn't had to go root them out of some hole. The Soldier scrunched up his face, trying to force the little men in his head to work harder. The Spy grumbled, then crossed his arms. Picking Archimedes off his shoulder, the Medic stroked his dove as he tried not to think of what those worms could do to his birds. The Heavy shot the Sniper a look, trying to pick the Australian's brain. The Sniper had very few ideas. It wasn't like the others would be suited for hunting around the desert for a few days. He certainly wasn't in the mood to track the final two alone, either.

"Well, Truckie? Got radar or anythin'?" the Sniper asked.

The Engineer scratched his chin. "Ya know, I might have somethin'." He pressed his thumb down on the transmitter. "Got a computer handy? Over."

"Sure thing. Give me a sec, and I'll power it up. Over," Miss Pauling said.

"When ya have it up and goin', see if ya can get into the intranet. I think we might be able ta divine a little info through Rosebud. Over," the Engineer responded.

The Spy frowned. "Laborer, what are you doing? Is zat not our program? You may be compromising our security."

"He does have a point." The Medic stuck up for the Spy. "I mean, say ze ozzer team overhears vhere ve vill go. Zey could raid our base for weapons or supplies. Zere is some medical equipment here zat I know my doppelganger vould love to have."

The Heavy grimaced, thinking of a worse situation. "Is nine of them, and six of us. Would not be hard to subdue us. Especially tiny baby men."

"Ya don't think they'd stoop so low as ta stop us while we're tryin' ta kill those animals, do ya?" The Sniper crossed his legs at his ankles, now sitting upright. "Those beasts wiped the other team clean off the map. They wouldn't be pickin' a foight with us while those creatures are about."

"Is risky. But, suppose we are all in trouble, da?" the Heavy nodded.

Miss Pauling interrupted before the conversation became more heated. "Okay. I'm in. Over."

The Engineer paused for a second, waiting for any other objections. They didn't come. "Alright. Go ahead and run a systems check. I'm guessin' those buggers aren't too quiet when they pass through the ground. I'm lookin' fer seismic activity. The bigger, the better. Over."

"That's what all Texans say. Or is it all men?" Miss Pauling cracked, forgoing protocol for the moment. The Engineer cleared his throat, turning a bright shade of red as the Soldier broke out into a sharp laugh. The Heavy joined him, then slapped his knee. The Sniper was softer with his amusement, his chuckles dry and low. The Medic slapped his head, but found himself smirking none the less. Even the Spy smiled just a touch at the juvenile jest.

The Engineer finally worked up enough sense to radio back. "I-it's gonna take a few minutes. Over."

His response left him open to a new jest. "Mister Conagher, that's not the kind of thing you tell a lady until her wedding night. Over."

Now he was rendered speechless as the rest of his team fell over, stomachs aching with laughter. The Spy took over the radio system, just barely keeping himself under control. "Let us know what you find, Mademoiselle. We will be planning our next step. Over."

There was that dirty little word again. Plan. The Soldier mulled thoughts over in his head. If the egghead was able to find the location of the last two worms, they'd have to go out and meet them. Assuming they weren't heading for their base like fat torpedoes, of course. They were going to need to haul equipment out to meet them. Then there was the concern about what to do with the rest of their base. It was unlikely the other team was going to pick its ruins anytime soon, but there was still some sensitive data on the premises. Blueprints, unique weapons, maps to hidden stashes. That would all have to be locked up in some location that slick fingers or explosive experts couldn't get to.

Well, it was best to start with how to arrange the team's transportation. "What do we have for functional vehicles?"

Everyone glanced at the garage. It was mostly intact, save for a collapsed section of the roof. The Heavy waved for one of his teammates to follow him. The Medic was quickly on his heels, if for no other reason than out of habit. As they left the infirmary, the strange quietness around the base began tugging at the team's nerves. Without a radio going, a television set blaring, even the Administrator yelling at them—well, it was empty. They waited on pins and needles, shifting uncomfortably at every little misinterpreted movement. It was natural for those damned beasts to show up at the most inconvenient time. To have their location unknown was driving the group up the wall.

With no fluster or grand disturbance, the Heavy and the Medic returned safely. The Medic reported their findings. "Mein Kombinationskraftwagen is fine. Ze Soldier's Jeep and ze Engineer's truck appear to have made it just fine. Ze Spy's car, however…"

The Spy clicked his tongue. "Typical. Zat's ze zird Ferrari I've destroyed since coming to America."

"Good gravy. How d'ya even afford insurance at this point, never the less a damn sports car?" the Engineer asked.

The Spy smirked, then adjusted his cuffs. "I have my ways."

So they had options. This was good. The Soldier tapped his chin, wondering what would be more effective. They could all load into the Medic's van, but that would put them at risk for being wiped out all at once. Then again, it could probably withstand modifications a little better. It would take longer to set up the other vehicles as well. The Engineer could only do so much at once, even with five extra sets of hands. He grinned, thinking about what improvements could be done. If any of those guns in the supply room survived, they could be sitting pretty.

The Soldier flashed a huge grin. "Well then, Fritz! Good news! Your van has been enlisted!"

A series of flustered noises escaped the Medic before he settled into an English sentence. "What in ze hell are you zinking?"

"Picture it!" The Soldier grabbed the Medic around his shoulders, then held his hand up. "Two side-mounted cannons. An artillery unit on the top. Rifles out its tail. Doctor, when we get done with your vehicle, it's going to make hippies crap grenades!"

"How in the heck ya propose on doin' that?" the Engineer asked.

The Soldier shrugged. "You're the mechanical guy! Make it happen." He snapped towards the team, issuing demands as he went. "Ruskie, you're with me. We're going to haul the biggest, baddest guns we can find out of the supply room and bring them here. Engie, get your shit together. Welding guns, drills, whatever. You're gonna make it work, dammit. I have faith in you. Frenchie! You want out of this?"

The Spy lifted an eye. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not. Listen, I need you to get as much vital intel out of here as possible. Crash at a hotel, the next base over, whatever. Don't let those bastards get our work." The Soldier fished a set of keys out of his pocket, then tossed them at the Spy. "Take good care of Lucille, alright?"

"You're joking." The Spy's words were less of an accusation and more deadpan.

The Soldier gave him a broad smile. "Last chance, Frenchie."

The offer to abandon the mission was tempting. He sighed, then tossed the Soldier's keys back. He hadn't gone through all of this just to run at the most convenient opportunity. "I will secure our documents. Zey will come wiz us. If we lose zem in ze desert, zen so be it."

The Spy's stubbornness drew a small chuckle from the Soldier. "Glad to see you stick through it, Spy." He spun on his heel, addressing the last member of his team. "Sniper! You stay here and keep in contact with Miss Pauling. I want you to have the exact latitude and longitude of our next destinations. Got it, Cupcake?"

"Ten four, Sarge." The Sniper gave the Soldier a half-hearted salute. "Just don't forget ta bring a few weapons fer me."

"I've never let a man down!" The Soldier placed his fists on his hips. "Alright team! Break!"

For a bunch of stubborn, middle-aged men, the team was quick to comply with the Soldier's idea. They rushed out the door, all preparing for their tasks. The Spy tossed the Sniper the transmitter, giving him a sly glance as he left. Well, being the communicator wasn't the best use of his time, but it kept him from doing heavy lifting for a while. No complaints there.

It was a good fifteen minutes before Miss Pauling got back to the Sniper. In the meantime, he did a little packing in the infirmary. Not that he knew any better than the Medic on what to bring, but a few healing gel bottles and first aid kits seemed to be pretty obvious. He hauled a few medi-guns onto the nearest gurney, checking the hoses over for cracks. The Medic's doves watched him with fascination as he set about his duties. It was strange that they hadn't followed their master. He felt like he had an audience, which made him feel a little off.

In fact, it threw him off enough to jump when Miss Pauling finally got back, "Okay. I've got some coordinates. Ready? Over."

The Sniper scrambled for the transmitter. "Give me a sec." He rummaged a pen and piece of paper out of the Medic's desk. "Roight then, Miss Pauling. Go ahead. Over."

She read the first set of points off to the Sniper. Fairly standard stuff. She made a clarification, "Now, that's about twenty miles north-east of where you are. Over."

"All roight. Next set? Over," the Sniper asked.

Miss Pauling took a moment to respond. "It's—just a second. Someone's at the door. I'll be right back. Over."

The Sniper raised an eyebrow, but didn't think too long about it. Probably one of the other team's members coming around to harass her. They were a strange lot. Not that his team didn't have their quirks, but they were a little bit more optimistic and sought to routinely boost each other up. This other team? Well, they operated on tough love at best. Each of them had their dark little twists, something like his own teammates but off kilter just enough to raise his suspicions. Their Medic was too quick with a saw, too eager to abandon patients and vivisect his opponents. Their Spy was a menacing little bastard, flowery with his language and slow to kill his prey when their struggling amused him. Their Soldier was an obnoxious brute, their Demoman on the verge of alcohol poisoning every day. Each one was off by a shade, something like a distorted reflection.

A voice much lower than Miss Pauling's came out of the radio. "You there, wanker?"

The Sniper jolted. It was his opposite. He paused, then replied. "Yeah, ya bastard. What is it, then? Over."

A quiet laugh floated through the air, lungs hacking from heavy cigarette abuse. Not that the Sniper didn't enjoy a good light, but he wasn't burning through a pack a day. "Listen, ya piss head. I'm gonna hand ya back ovah ta Miss Paulin'. Before I do that, I want ya to know somethin'. Got me, wanker?"

"Yeah. Shoot." The Sniper nodded, keeping his voice at ease.

He could almost see the other Sniper's teeth in the back of his mind, the way the other Australian growled out of the corner of his mouth. "Ain't no way around it, so let me shoot straight. The other one hasn't moved since I found it. Made a roight meal outta me. Empty calories, but still. I think you 'n I know why an animal doesn't move. Don't ya?"

The Sniper agreed with his mirror image. "It's either sick, or…"

His rival interrupted him. "Moight want ta knit it a blanket, if ya catch my drift."

A wave of cold terror rushed through the Sniper's body. He sat down, pushing his hair back. Well, damn. That had always been a possibility, hadn't it? If the Administrator had any positive qualities, it was her cunning and intelligence. She had to know, didn't she? What she would have planned on doing with breeding a worm farm, he couldn't think. Perhaps it was a capitalistic venture. Hell, people breed all sorts of exotic and domestic animals. All it would take was five organisms to keep the genetic stock fresh. Or was that just for humans?

The Sniper finally got back to his opposite. "Think that's really it? Over."

"Blind Eyes, I don't know fer sure." The voice on the other end was about as grim as his own. "There was somethin' nasty on the walls down in the basement. Looked like…well, looked like somethin' awful had taken a Bushman's hanky to the place. Like a roight nasty wasp nest. If you were a smart man, ya wouldn't be goin' down there. But, rather you than me. Ovah."

"Thanks for the warnin', mate. Over," the Sniper replied.

His opposite responded in kind. "Get rooted, ya damn disgrace."

The graveled, threatening voice was replaced by a much fairer one. "Sorry about that. Over."

"It's all roight. Good ta know what we're gettin' into." The Sniper smiled, then sighed. "Suppose ya don't need to send those last coordinates, then. Over."

Miss Pauling gave the Sniper a stern warning. "Don't mess around over there, okay? Remember—you're just taking care of a pest. Over."

The Sniper gave a childish groan. "Ah, Miss Pauling! Don't tell me those blighters wouldn't take a crack at our intel, if it was our base!"

"I never said anything about that." Her voice softened. "You guys be careful, okay? It'd be a hell of a mess for us to clean up if your team failed. Over."

"Ain't lookin' pretty roight now," the Sniper laughed.

Miss Pauling paused, then spoke almost as quietly as a whisper into the transmitter. "You know what I mean. Over."

A slow smile etched its way across the Sniper's face. "No worries. Over and out."

/***/

Author's Note:

Blegh. I hate when I have to do dialogue dumps. It's more fun for me to be prosy. Still, it had to be done.

One of my weaknesses with writing Team Fortress 2 fanfiction is how I go about portraying the "other" team. I tend to use them as card-carrying, black-hatted villains. I'm sure that's not the case. Well, not entirely. My goal for never using which team we're following is to get away from that "us versus them" mentality. We've all got our sets of colors, and we fill in the lines as we see fit. Although, if everything I write is supposed to take place in one continuity, that technically means I am writing for Team BLU. Pretty sure that crashes horribly with canon. Or, that means that there's two sets of dove flocks. Something very strange, no doubt.

I think I updated too fast last time. Can't help it. There's some kind of law that states that for every chapter I enjoy writing, it doesn't get reviewed at all. I don't know what that is. Probably the prose thing. Can't help it.

I think the theme for my next chapter will be the main theme from Warrior of the Lost World…


	7. Chapter 7

What was once a vehicle of mercy was transformed into a monstrous, ravenous beast. Two gatling guns flanked the van's sides. They were easily as heavy as a man, held in place by a hasty but secure patch job onto a rotating column. From the tail end of the machine peeked a slender, sharp-nosed rifle. It looked like something out of a science fiction novel, dark-plated and fixed with a bright laser sight. Welded onto the top of the van was a standard sentry, beeping quietly as it kept an iron gaze on the men standing below. It wasn't what the Engineer would consider the best makeover, but with time being of the essence, it would have to do.

The short Texan passed two strange devices to the Soldier and the Heavy. It was a hastily assembled remote. The front of it had a miniature dish fastened to a wooden stock. A single plastic button and a wobbly device on the top were hooked to the dish, little wires taped in place. He gave both men a quick explanation, demonstrating the controls with a third remote. "Now, each 'a these has a gun that follows it. Watch." He waggled the control. As he did so, the sentry on the top of the van followed his aim.

"Cool." The Soldier moved his control from side to side, grinning as the right gun followed his commands.

The Heavy scratched his chin as he observed the little device. "Is good to have easy aim, but what about boolets?"

The Engineer gave the back of the van a knock. The rifle attached to the back doors folded in, allowing all three men easy access to the guts of the machine. Most of the seats had been removed, replaced with bungee cords and harnesses. Fixed to the center of the van was a high-level dispenser. Hinges on the top support for the guns allowed both gatlings to be pulled in for reloading. Both the Heavy and the Soldier nodded in agreement. That would work.

"So, I would take it zat boz ze Heavy and ze Soldier have controls over ze side arms. Zen, you would have control over ze sentry." The Spy lifted an eyebrow, uncertain of the Engineer's design. "And zat leaves ze Medic and I to do what, exactly?"

"Well, ya could take the rifle, if ya wanted. Kinda thought Mundy would want that. If ya could help run ammo back and forth, that'd be real helpful," the Engineer said.

The Medic grinned. "And zat vould leave ze driving to me! Oh, zis vill be fun, ja?"

Everyone's stomach rolled. It wasn't that the Medic wasn't a good driver. Not the case at all. It was his vehicle, and he knew how to control it better than anyone else. He had the right to drive it. The unfortunate part with leaving the driving to the Medic was his tendency to whiplash into insane giddiness. It wouldn't be just about steering clear of rocks and not getting the team gobbled up by worms. He would have to toy with it, get as close to the monster as he could without crashing. Steer too sharply, go completely lead-footed. He had a gleeful mania to him, one that few could withstand.

"Is…ah, is good, Doctor," the Heavy sighed.

The Engineer tried to take the team's mind off of the sudden dread of riding with the Medic. "Okay. Well, fer the rest of us in the back, we need ta use these cords. You'll need to take this harness here, and—"

The rest of the Engineer's sentence was cut off by a roaring engine. Exhaust rolled from the tailpipe, settling over the dust in the front courtyard. The Medic was already at the wheel, ready to move out. "Ja, ja, ja. Less talking, more shooting!"

"Ol' Fritz is right," the Soldier agreed. He jumped into the back of the van, already settling into securing himself. He managed to bypass the harness completely, settling instead for a variety of knots around his belt. He gave the team a cheesy grin and a thumbs up. "We are men of action! It's time we take some!"

The Spy groaned, then strolled to where the front passenger seat had once been. "We don't even know where ze ozzer two worms are yet. Zis could be a long, uncomfortable ride."

The Heavy scrunched himself into the middle of the van. He was barely small enough to squeeze past the erected dispenser. "Is a bit leetle, yes. But it will work."

"Alright, alright. Just hold yer horses." The Engineer jumped into the back. He snapped the harness around his belt, locking the metallic device in place. The Heavy copied him as the Texan continued giving directions. "Let's go pick up Stretch. He's got ta have our destination by now."

The Medic didn't need to hear anything else. He slammed on the accelerator, throwing everyone backwards as he tore to his infirmary. A sharp squeak and two honks brought the Kombi to a stop. Doves fled in terror from the building, knowing that their master had once again gone off the deep end. The Sniper hopped out of the infirmary, a variety of first aid kits, a radio, and a medi-gun pack slung across his back. The Engineer popped open the back door, then hauled the items off of the Sniper as he clambered in. It wasn't long until he was hooked into place as well.

"Like what ya did with the van," the Sniper smirked. He brushed a hand across the strange sniper rifle affixed to the back. "This fer me?"

The Engineer smiled back. "Well, I was gonna save it fer yer birthday, but—"

"She's a beaut. Thank ya," the Sniper replied, his voice low and sincere.

The Soldier snapped both men to attention. "Bablo Biggins! Now is the time for you to tell us our destination. You two can go coo over your new baby later!"

A strange red flush overtook both the Sniper and the Engineer. The Australian gave a curt nod, then began sharing the reports from Miss Pauling. "Roight-o, then. Closest one ta us is 'bout twenty-five miles northeast of here, towards the other team's base."

The van screeched as the Medic slammed the accelerator to the floor. Everyone was jostled backwards once more. Roughness from beneath the vehicle smoothed as the Medic brought them onto the highway running northeast. Not to say that this stretch of pavement was as sleek, as most of the road had cracks caused from heat stress. Still, it was easier to ride across than sand and dirt.

"Can't believe ya got this up 'n goin' so fast!" The Sniper touched the rifle's mount, his eyebrows lifting. "Blimey, is this even cooled yet?"

The Engineer shrugged. "This ain't built ta last. Just gonna get us through the rest of the day."

The Medic cackled with laughter. "If you say zough! I plan on driving zis zing for ze rest of my life! Oh, it is good!"

Shaking his head, the Spy sighed. "We are going to get pulled over by ze cops before we even find ze first monster, aren't we?"

The Spy's question went unanswered. Everyone hunkered down, eyes fixed to their respective direction. Even with the Medic speeding, the world felt like it was crawling by. The Engineer fumbled with the radio, hoping to be able to catch Miss Pauling once they got away from their base. The Sniper was taking his time to familiarize himself with this new rifle, noting how much it responded to the bouncing of the vehicle it was stuck to. Could be a little bit tricky, but he could certainly make shots with it. The Heavy had his arms crossed, laid back against the driver's seat as he drifted into a calm state. Not that he would have to conserve his energy, but it was best to be patient and prepared. It was impossible to keep the Soldier under control. He was grinning at everything, yelling about random road signs from time to time. This put the Spy on edge, but not enough to threaten the Soldier with a knife to his spine.

An odd crackle came through the dashboard radio. Everyone pulled a face as horrible country-western music blasted out of it. The Medic slammed the radio off, then muttered, "Tone-deaf Schweinhunds."

"Wait a sec!" The Engineer readjusted the band on his radio, then began transmitting. "Miss Pauling, you there? Over."

In less than a heartbeat, a perky voice came back. "Yeah! I'm here! Where are you guys? Over!"

The Soldier jerked the transmitter out of the Engineer's hands. "We are less than ten minutes from our target! Over!"

Miss Pauling replied, "Okay. Let me run the seismometer program again. I'll be—"

The rest of her report was cut out by an earth-shattering tremble. A powerful crack whipped its way across the road, shaking it like a soiled rug. The Medic's van was tossed like a toy, shocks straining as it landed sharply. The German corrected his course. A dozen foreign curses escaped his lips as gouges cut their way like invisible lightning bolts across the highway. He veered off to the side, sliding down the ditch as pavement exploded. Something very different emerged from the wake, something unknown to the rest of the team but familiar to the Sniper.

It wasn't the monster he'd slain in the desert so long ago, but it had to be its brother.

The characteristic black beaks were gone from the front of the worm's face, replaced instead with fleshy, hook-filled flaps. A ring of sharp teeth lined its mouth, almost like that of a giant leech's. Red mottling was splattered across its orange hide. It was much larger than the beasts that had attacked their base, at least five times as long as the Medic's van.

The Spy's cool demeanor cracked. "Merde! Is zat even ze same species?"

Nobody took the time to fight about it. The Heavy and the Engineer opened fire first. Long, expensive cartridges tore out of both the gatling gun and the sentry. A heavy cloud began rolling from both weapons. Never-the-less, they could still see flecks of blood as their rounds met their mark. There was a strange screech, then the monster dove below the ground once again, flinging pavement everywhere. Fragments shot across the ditch, one almost landing dead ahead of the careening van. The Medic pulled back onto the road, hissing at the flung debris.

"Bloody son of a…" The Sniper left his thoughts hanging. He wrenched the sniper rifle to the right, waiting for the worm to pull upwards again. He saw pavement cracking at their tail once more. He opened fire, surprised when the rifle gave a hard kick into his shoulder. A beam of light shot from the muzzle. It pierced through the emerging monster's mouth, lancing as straight and true as an arrow of the gods. He smiled, then continued his assault. "This gal's got some brawn to her!"

"Why'd ya think I put her back there?" the Engineer laughed. He wheeled the sentry on the roof of the van around. He opened fire, then growled. "Can't get the turrets angled down low enough! It's too close, Doc!"

The Medic smirked. "Patience, Herr Engineer!" He swerved to the right, dropping back just enough to let the Soldier and the Engineer open fire on exposed flesh. Blood spurted from wounds, skin peeling back as the monster dove once more. It wound down the highway like a leviathan of the sand, moving up and down with beautiful arcs. Torn flesh hung from its body like limp ribbons. The beast went under once more, trying to swerve around its bulk and reach the stubborn van once more.

"Is good work, Doctor!" The Heavy gave the back of the Medic's seat a playful swat.

The Medic beamed. "Of course! And you zought zat—oh, mein—"

A quick reflex saved the team from being flattened. The worm had popped up, this time cutting horizontally across the road. Tires squealed with fright as the van skidded to a halt. The Medic whipped the van around, trying to escape down the broken highway. It was with horror that he discovered a face greeting their tail.

The Engineer opened fire, sending a burst of missiles down the monster's throat. An awful sound screamed back at them, gurgled and bloody but piercing none-the-less. A horrible screech came from above their heads as the worm chomped at the vehicle. It gave the van a good shake, then snapped the offensive sentry clean off. The Engineer gulped, noticing the huge tears in the ceiling as blue sky greeted him.

"Keep firing!" The Soldier's barks kept the team focused. He emptied his gatling gun into one side, almost slicing a clean line. As he pulled his gun back, the Spy reached into the dispenser and gave the gun a fresh belt. The Soldier gave it one experimental spin, then went back to work. The Heavy was equally occupied, focusing all of his rounds into one exact spot. Red tissue spurted and collapsed, then the horizon broke through the gouged hole. A rhythmic pounding joined the chaos as the Sniper continued piercing sharp points through the monster's tail. The creature was bleeding fiercely, pooling around the team's vehicle in a sticky, scarlet tide.

Two yelps escaped the front of the van as a tooth-ringed face clamped onto the front of the vehicle. Teeth and tendrils rolled over the glass. Both the Medic and the Spy abandoned their posts as the worm clamped around the van's short nose. A garnet abyss surrounded the front of the van, the manufacture's logo ripped away and swallowed hole.

The Heavy growled. They could not lose this van! Not yet! He disengaged the secured fastenings around his gatling gun, then pulled it inside the van. If the top was destroyed, then so be it. The engine could not be taken. He aimed the gun up, then opened fire. The gun tore through his side of the van, shooting through the windshield as it struck the monster square in the face. The Soldier dropped his jaw, then gritted his teeth. Damn Ruskie was showing him up! He pulled his in as well, mirroring the Heavy's course of action. Hell, anything would work.

As twin rolls thundered through the van, tendrils began pouring into the van. They smacked and nipped at the offending gunmen. The Engineer caught onto one, pulling the stickered flesh taught. The Spy severed through the tendril. He gagged as blood began to rain inside of the van. The Sniper pushed next to him, his new baby aimed directly up the monster's throat. Bullets and syringes rained into its mouth, blood cascading around him. He opened fire as well, light lancing through the back of the creature's mouth. Horrible memories erupted in his mind, vertigo and exhaustion haunting this intimidating vision. Even with gore drenching him and teeth raking at him, he couldn't help but feel fortunate. This time, he was with his team. Even the largest of foes seemed like nothing before them.

The gatling guns wheezed and cried as another shriek escaped the monster. It reared its head away from the van, blood deluging the ground as it coughed its last breath. The Medic scrambled for the driver's seat once more. Just as he slammed the vehicle into reverse, the monster came crashing down. The van rocked with the tremor, tossed backwards into the tail-end of the dying beast. He fought against the throw, managing to crash parallel to the dead body. Sand burst over the van, then settled into the ground once more. Silence suspended the group as nerves shook with excitement. There was a group holler, then a communal slap of hands.

The Medic grumbled, then took the nozzle of his medigun. He gave everyone a quick burst of healing vapors. He tossed the pack aside once more, then grabbed a piece of sentry that had fallen through the top of the van. With two hits, he smashed the tattered remains of his windshield aside. "Zis is quite the mess!"

"You!" The Soldier extended his hand, clapping onto the Heavy's shoulder. "You are brilliant, you crazy bastard!"

The Heavy gave a light snort. "Killing is my job. No big deal."

"I am never going to be able to wear this suit again," the Spy coughed. He slunk into the front again, already fatigued from the stress of the operation.

A tinny voice echoed from beneath their feet. "—spond, over!"

The Engineer jumped as he remembered about the radio. He picked up the bloodied device, then squeezed on the transmitter. "One ta go, Miss Pauling. Over."

"Everyone holding up?" Miss Pauling asked.

The Sniper motioned for the transmitter. The Engineer complied, passing him the system. "Bit soaked at the moment. Doc's van's up and runnin', but we should make our destination, at any rate. Over."

Miss Pauling responded. "Okay. Nothing's changed, as far as I can see. You know what to do. Over and out."

The Sniper nodded, even if she couldn't see the motion. He glanced upwards, watching as five sets of eyes drilled him for their next location. He sighed, then passed the gadget back to the Engineer. Wiping a hand through his gore soaked hair, he smiled. "Last one's in the other base."

The Spy smiled. "Oh, good. Zen we can steal zer zings. Perhaps some intel as well? I like zis plan."

"Ain't gonna be pretty, mate. Had a talk with the other Sniper." The Sniper grumbled, then laid against the back of the van. "Mongrel thinks it's expectin'."

The Engineer gave a low whistle. "I'm guessin' you don't mean company."

"And here I was, thinking I'd never have to go to a damn baby shower," the Soldier hissed.

With a slow wobble around the carcass, the Medic's van swerved back onto its path. The team fell back into its natural quiet state, but there was a new energy to them. Even if their transportation had taken a serious beating, they had all made it through. If the other team's Sniper was right, then maybe the other worm wouldn't be mobile enough to fight back. Perhaps it was cruel, but its assassination was the Administrator's orders.

It didn't take long to find the other team's base. After all, it was constructed in a way that mirrored their barracks. Upon approaching the base, this reflection took on a rotted distortion. The ends of the base were flattened, punctured and laying in heaps. The infirmary was ripped apart, glass and tile scattered amongst its remains. The garage was dead and buried as well. It was surprising that any of it still stood.

"Perhaps it would be better if I stayed in ze car," the Spy murmured.

The Heavy grimaced. "Fighting here? Is bad idea."

Never the less, they all stepped out of the van.

They were slow to approach the dilapidated building, rolling their steps to reduce their impact on the ground. Everyone was armed to the teeth, prepared to go down swinging with the best of their equipment. Even with the destroyed base around them, it was quiet. No rumbles came from beneath their feet. The Sniper frowned, wondering if perhaps the Engineer's computers were wrong. There had to be some—

Oh.

The team stood where the front door once was. The Engineer glanced down, straight through the missing first floor and into the basement. It was like gazing into an open, festering wound. At first, it was hard to tell that anything was down there. The sun was in the wrong direction, starting its course to the other side of the planet. It cast black shadows into the torn floors, emergency lights the only source of illumination. Something was coated on the wall, coagulated and thick with large protrusion sticking out every few feet.

The Texan sighed. "Well, that can't be—"

He was interrupted by a mouth clamping around his ankle. He barely got a yelp out before he was dragged into the freshly-torn abyss.

/***/

Author's Note:

Yikes. Looks like I seriously screwed this story over. The last update had less than 17 hits for the day. Oh, well. Going to have to write better. Can't abandon this story, not so close to the end.


	8. Chapter 8

Whatever professionalism that the Sniper thought he had was dragged into the pit with the Engineer. Gone were his natural flight instincts, the urge to get further away and higher up than his enemy. He would have lost his rifle, had it not been slung across his back. He was single-minded in his determination, unafraid of whatever lay in the basement below his feet. He rushed towards the gouge in the earth. He would have leapt into the abyss if it had not been for the tremendous orange force that struck both him and the entire team backwards. They landed with awkward thumps, thrown off by what had hit them.

"What in the name of truth, justice, and the American way is that?" the Soldier blurted.

It was as if a hydra had risen from Styx. Draconian heads with a familiar structure bobbed in the air, supported by necks as thick around as the Heavy. Their jaws were overdeveloped, muscular and sharp. The throats of these necks were segmented, skin leathery and mottled with scarlet dots. Some of them looked painfully distended and bulbous. As monstrous as they were, they were merely a part of the gigantic worm buried in the basement, no more individual from the monster's body than a tongue is to a human.

The Sniper was the first onto his feet. He snarled, his right hand clamped firmly on the kukri in his grasp. His eyes flared with indignation. His team was shocked by his demeanor. It was one thing to see the Demoman run off like a madman with a broadsword. He wasn't necessarily sober. The Sniper was supposed to be cool, collected. To see him want to discard his rifle and bolt at the enemy was unusual, to say the least.

The Spy snapped at him. "He is gone! Do not forget what our mission is, Bushman!"

"Ya don't—I can't—" The Sniper started a sharp bark back at the Frenchman, but caught himself. He realized what he must have looked like. A true moron, no doubt. He stuffed aside his temper, struggling to fit back into his natural state. "Help me kill it, 'n I'll prove ya wrong!"

The Heavy took lead of the group. He hefted his minigun up, then started pressing forward. Before the barrel of his gun could drown out his voice, he yelled, "Doctor, Soldier, with me! We cut path! Tiny baby men, run and find Toymaker. Then, we kill monster together!"

Noise exploded in the decimated base. Sasha's singing was the first sound to cut through. She hummed with a warm, speedy hiss as bullets flew from her mouth. The Medic's medi-gun burned with her, enveloping her Russian master with a soft healing glow. There was a percussive break from the Soldier as his rocket launcher rang out. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! His rhythmic pursuit knocked one of the mouths off its support, exploding in a burst of tissue and bone. The Sniper and the Spy helped their offensive linemen, rounds knocking teeth and tearing ligaments. There was hissing and screeching from the mouths as they sought to gnaw at the incoming attackers. Each man stayed in their sweet spot, just far enough back to keep out of their reach and close enough to ensure the greatest accuracy.

"What in the hell is it doing? Why isn't it moving?" the Soldier hollered.

The Sniper growled. "Maybe the bloody thing's stuck."

"Oh! Well! That makes this—gah!" The Soldier started a wise-ass crack, but was abruptly cut off by a head slamming next to his body. It nipped at him twice, teeth seeking to close around his calves. He launched himself into the air, his rocket launcher propelling him through the sky. The Medic caught him in his healing beam as the American descended. Rockets flew through the air, striking three heads as the great eagle came back to the earth.

With the heads split between attacking the boisterous American and the Eastern European duo, the Spy and the Sniper finally saw a clear path to the basement. The Sniper ran first, yanking the Spy forward by his wrist as they bolted. Tossing his rifle over his back, the Sniper drew his kukri, gnashing on his teeth as he went. That other American couldn't let him down. He had to be there. He was too damn stubborn to die on him now.

With his heart pounding in his eardrums and his mind racing, the Sniper never saw the dark shadow hovering over his head. Two forces snapped him back to reality. The first was a sharp shove to his back, pushing him head first into the torn-up basement. He landed with an awkward clatter, but he was unharmed. The second was the earth's tremble as a horrible crunch echoed from above his head. The Sniper snapped his attention up for a moment, gawking as scarlet blood rolled down the walls. A leather-clad hand hung over the edge, its empty palm splayed open. A gargantuan mouth snatched the weak hand, then threw his remains into the living abyss to be digested.

Damned brave Frenchman.

The Sniper had no time to mourn. The Spy had gotten him into the basement, to the root of the problem. He was standing on one of the last remaining concrete slabs of the basement's floor. Thick necks had broken through, now writhing as they sought to finish off the rest of the team. A black hole was in the center of them. It had a diameter twice the size of the Sniper's length. It was squeezed horizontally as teeth and lips sought anchor in the floor.

Something wriggled behind his back. The Sniper spun around, then covered his mouth. Lining the wall were cells like the honeycomb of a bee. Most of them contained foodstuffs, rotting animals. Some of them contained live young as well. They were about his size, white and grub-like. They squirmed helplessly in their cells, small mouths puckering as they sat in their jelly. He grimaced, but forced himself to turn back to the monster. He had to help his team first.

The Sniper snarled, then slashed at the throats coming out of the mother's maw. He started sawing, the oozing blood flooding his nostrils with a rotten, sickening smell. His stomach rolled as he finished cutting through one neck, then he rushed to the side. The head collapsed to the ground. Its extensions snapped to the pit, now seeking the pruner in its depths.

He realized with a sudden jolt of horror that he was about to meet the same fate as his friend. The remaining heads dove into the basement, biting at the Sniper's location. One cracked in half as a perfectly timed rocket struck its neck, color flaring as an extra powerful boost kicked in. Critical rockets. So capricious. He side-stepped another, giving it a sharp slice across its mouth. Like always, it was the one at his back that did him in. The mouth's shadow enveloped him before the living tendril did. It slammed with such ferocity around him that it tore the concrete up from beneath his feet. It had no throat of its own, but it held him in place long enough to toss him into the toothed maw of its master.

It swallowed him with as little fanfare as one belch.

The Soldier was almost struck speechless by the sight. The key word being almost. "Goddammit!"

"Ve need a new plan, I zink!" the Medic yelled.

"Maybe retreat?" the Heavy asked. Sasha was performing her swan song, her chambers spent and empty. "Need more ammo!"

The Medic's van was their only chance to turn this around. The Engineer's dispenser was still in it, still functional. It could fill them up. Worst case scenario, they could use it to distract the worm and take it down. Well, that wasn't completely correct. The absolute worst turn of events would be for the van to be destroyed, then for the team to be eaten alive. Not to mention the horrible reprimands they would receive from the Administrator when they were revived with their teammates.

The Soldier sighed. He tossed his rocket launcher aside, then grabbed his shotgun. "Fritz, with me! Ivan, get your girl reloaded!"

His teammates nodded, then split their ways. It wasn't as if the American and the German didn't work together from time to time, but usually the Medic preferred keeping to the Heavy and only healing others when they were in dire straits. They pushed forward together, quickly drawing the attention of the remaining heads. Fighting them off was a matter of nerves. Every time their jaws snapped close to the duo, the Soldier blew them back with a crack from his shotgun. They grew closer and closer, braver with every bite. Even as one fell to the ground, its jaws in a terminal spasm, they pressed on.

A flash of brilliant energy gave the Soldier courage. His heart crackled with energy as the Medic released a charge into his body. Teeth gnashed at both men but broke at their shimmering skin. He laughed like a lunatic, cackling as two more heads collapsed. Hell, he could punch the entire monster to death like this. He pushed further into the base, his shotgun sparking as he unloaded his entire clip. There was nothing quite like this invincibility. It was addictive.

Perhaps that was why he ignored the Medic's call. "Fall back! Now!"

There was a flutter, then the medi-gun's charge ran out. The Medic had retreated enough to get out of the immediate line of fire. The Soldier was not so lucky. He was snapped up by one of the mouths, torn from the Medic's range, its front teeth ripping into the sides of his chest. An undignified squeak of pain transformed into a war cry. So, this was it? This was how the mighty American was going to be defeated by this thing? Trickery! Blasphemy! He wasn't going to stand for it.

The Soldier fidgeted his left hand towards his chest. Even as blood trickled from his lips, he laughed. He had a little dirty trick of his own. He worked his fingers towards one of the grenades strapped to his chest, then pulled the pin. He knew the horrible pain that was about to come from his act, but he maintained his grin, never the less. He was going to see the rest of his team, going to rub it into their faces that he'd made it until the final act. The strongest hero could fall like this. No shame. All glory.

The grenade detonated, destroying the tendril and setting the eagle free to fly again.

With a flustered groan, the Heavy returned to the Medic's side. "Doctor! Now what?"

The Medic locked his medi-gun onto the Heavy, then gave a broken laugh. "I have no idea!"

"Hmm." The Heavy snorted, then sneered at the tendrils writhing above their heads. There was still work to be done. They certainly couldn't give up now. He sighed, then spun Sasha up once more. As long as the Medic was by his side, he had some support. They could fight for a little while longer.

The Heavy found enough strength left in him to smile. "See you in Viaduct, maybe?"

The Medic returned his grin. "Zunder Mountain, I hope."

Both men prepared for the inevitable.

/***/

Horrible smells assaulted his senses as the Sniper came to. He'd landed on a slab of soft tissue, but his head had been struck by a piece of concrete. Something was rotting, pungent and sickeningly sweet. There was a sharp stench like bile clinging to his clothes. The Sniper wiped at his face, smearing gunk from his eyes. The stuff burned, hot like tea but not as strong and corrosive as a human's stomach acid. He blinked twice, trying to get his bearings. There was a strange sensation beneath his feet, like a thick tide rolling him up and down.

The Sniper scrambled in the dark, his back pressed against an organ wall. "Truckie! Are you there?"

The rest of his startled thoughts crashed as he crawled over a limp object. He landed face-first in the muck, hands scraping against wet denim. The Sniper reached out for the fabric, finding overall straps in the darkness. He pulled them up, feeling for a face. His hands traced against cheeks, goggles, a hardhat. He searched for the Engineer's nostrils, trying to calm himself enough to detect the Texan's breath. A strong blast of air went across the back of his hand. Good enough.

The Sniper shook the Engineer. "Truckie, wake up. Dammit, snap to it! I can't carry ya up!"

"Goddammit, w-what?" There was a huff beneath him. "Oh, Lord have mercy. I've gone blind."

Despite himself, the Sniper laughed. "Naw, mate. Just been eaten alive."

"Oh. That explains all the—ow—pain in my legs." Metal and flesh grabbed onto the Sniper's arms as the Engineer sat up in the dark.

"If they're still attached, you'll be okay, mate." The Sniper stood up, pulling the Engineer with him. It was an easy transition. "We gotta finish this off right here 'n now. Ya got me?"

"If ya've got any suggestions, I'll hear ya out. Bit low on supplies, though. Lost my gun," the Engineer sighed.

The Sniper glanced around, his eyes adjusting to the dark environment. He reached for his rifle, then snapped the laser sight off it. He pointed the front lens away from both of them. With a sharp crack, he broke the lens, sending light scattering in a thick, unfocused line. For as large as the worm was on the outside, its digestion tract left little room for wriggling. He flashed the laser across, the light catching the Engineer's shotgun. The Texan snatched it up, then smirked. Okay. So he had something to work with.

"We do one 'a two things," the Sniper said. "We either cut 'n punch our way up its throat, or we get it ta give us a free ride."

The Engineer pulled a face. "I'm all fer the conservation of energy, Stretch, but—"

"It can't possibly get any more gross than it is roight now, could it?" the Sniper asked.

Well, it was hard to argue against that point. The only way it could get worse was if the Sniper suggested they exit through the bowels of this creature. Up was better than down. The Engineer slapped the Sniper on his shoulder, then gave a quick nod. That damn maniac was trying to save him. Might as well give him the benefit of the doubt.

The Sniper scurried around the worm's stomach, looking for something like a valve or a sphincter. A ring of muscles hung a few feet above his head. That would do. He waved the Engineer over, his laser sight bouncing in the humid darkness. With a short circle, he highlighted their target. The Engineer nodded, then drew his shotgun. The Sniper followed in kind, not bothering to raise his rifle to his eyes. They opened fire simultaneously. Blood rained onto their faces, their telltale shooting patterns alternating between three quick bursts and one piercing rumble. They could see something blue hovering above them, the sky peeking between injured organs and skin.

A low gurgle gave the duo their only warning. The worm's stomach rolled around them, internal liquids rushing over their heads. They were swept off their feet as a building tide shot them forward. The Sniper caught the Engineer's hand at the last second, holding onto the only thing that gave him any sense of direction. He scrunched up his face, waiting for the hard landing they were going to take.

The Engineer and the Sniper crashed into the ground. The ooze surrounding their bodies soaked up red and orange sand, coating them in a new layer of filth. The Sniper's back hurt something fierce, but it was unbroken. Wobbling to his feet with an excited war cry, he wiped the gunk away from his eyes. The Engineer was not quite as quick, taking time to hack the vile substance out of his mouth. His hips were aching, his legs protesting against the sudden impact. When his senses cleared, he realized that both the Medic and the Heavy were staring at the two of them.

"Mein Gott! Vat is zis—auck!" The Medic groaned as he swiped some of the bile off of the Sniper's chest. The scientific side of him wanted to further investigate the substance, but he was too disturbed by the smell to do much additional investigation.

The Heavy shook his head. "Doctor, maybe this is not good time?"

The German agreed. "Ah. Yes. Zen let's finish our job. I vould hate to go vhere you two vent."

The team's banter was interrupted by a painful screech. The creature in the pit was inching its way up, retracting the damaged tendrils into its mouth. This worm was much different in texture and color than its teammates. As it wobbled upwards, milk-blue skin gushed out of the basement in thick clumps. The worm wriggled up as high as it could go, stuck in place by the heavy burden further in its body. It screamed at the remaining team members, fat bulges squirming beneath its thick hide. A weakness struck the Sniper in his gut, knowing that only a few layers of flesh had separated that spawn from decimating them all.

No one stopped to ask for a plan. They already knew what to do. The Heavy and the Medic took the front lines. Sasha began her song once more, quickly joined in a sweet duet with the Sniper's rifle. As she danced around the worm's teeth, slashing every last inch of the worm's face to ribbons, her counterpart struck the bulges threatening to escape from their mother's skin. Her master was enveloped in a new coat of shimmery color as the medi-gun joined their chorus, pushing them harder and faster towards the exposed beast. Two more turrets joined them, the modified van's payload moving in complimentary arcs as the Engineer conducted them together with a remote in each hand.

It was glorious. It was art. It was teamwork.

Sasha's voice stopped. Her partner's medi-gun ran out of color. The lonesome rifle drew its final lance. The spinning guns from the van overheated and became still. They had no more reason to sing. The last note was held by a screaming, writhing monster. Its cry was deafening, forceful, echoing off the walls of the empty base and the canyons surrounding it. The worm spat black blood into the air, white grubs falling with flat, lifeless splats from its mouth. Its body locked up, straight as an arrow, then fell to the earth in a fat line. The team withdrew, barely escaping the titan's death blow. It oozed its last, its unborn spilling from its carcass in white clumps.

The four stood for a moment, awestruck by the silence. The Engineer dropped his remote controls, his knees just strong enough to carry him to his companions' sides. The Sniper's didn't keep as well. He sat on the ground, his pulse racing. The Heavy gave a few pants, the afternoon's heat doing more damage than that infernal beast. The Medic kept his medi-gun on him, the vapors giving him a cooling breeze.

"Probably…probably should take care 'a the nest in the basement," the Sniper said. He scrambled to his feet, drawing his kukri. He was stopped by a huge hand yanking him back by his collar.

The Heavy shook his head. "Is not necessary to work so hard."

The Sniper smirked. "Mate, what are ya thinkin'?"

"Sasha is like beautiful tsarina going to dance. But first, she must clean," the Heavy grinned. He glanced at the Medic. "Doctor?"

The Medic sighed, but followed the Russian. "Jawohl."

As the duo went to finish off their mission, the Sniper and the Engineer clambered to the Medic's van. The Engineer went straight for the radio as the Sniper climbed into the hollowed out back. He clasped a harness around his belt, then laid against the dispenser. The coolness from the machine lulled him into a light slumber. The Engineer smiled, quick to prop himself next to his dozing friend. He squeezed on the transmitter, then began broadcasting quietly.

"We're done, Miss Pauling. Mission accomplished. Over," the Engineer said.

There wasn't an immediate response on the other end of the line. He didn't expect Miss Pauling to be manning the radio the entire time. She probably had to get up, stretch, eat, go to the restroom. She certainly wasn't one for resorting to the same unorthodox tactics as the Sniper, when it came to that sort of thing. A soft smile crept across his face. Damn lunatic. He slipped his arm around the Sniper's back, then closed his eyes as a distant roar signaled the end of their battle.

The next transmission from the radio snapped him to attention. "Lakeside! Go! Over and out!"

/***/

Author's Note

Well, certainly not my best, but at least that part's over with.

One more chapter to go. I should have it up by the end of this week.

Thank you for your support. Sometimes, it can get a little grueling. I've done no favors to this story by dragging it out so long. Least I can do is finish it.


	9. Chapter 9

Lakeside was a peculiar location, to say the least. It had originally been constructed as a casino resort with an Egyptian theme. Its previous owner had abandoned the site when Las Vegas became the de facto hot bed for the gambling industry. The site was abandoned for over a decade when it was sold to Redmond and Blutarch Mann, who proceeded to fight over which one would manage the water park towards the center of the plot. Driving from the dead center of New Mexico to Nevada was not a pleasant trip, especially for the remaining survivors. None were willing to take the easy way back, though. At the very least, the Medic's van could be an information goldmine for the other time, mostly due to its new adjustments. It was just as well they accompanied and protected each other, just in case of a surprise attack.

Night fell before they had to stop. The needle on the Medic's gas gauge had all but gone flat. He brought the van into a town populated more by ghosts than men. As he stopped in front of the only store with lights, his van coughed and grew still. He was lucky enough to find a petrol pump. Unfortunately, there were no gas jockeys to be found. The three men in the back of his vehicle were of no help, either. All three were fast asleep, tucked up against each other to keep warm. The Medic clicked his tongue, but didn't scold them.

After grabbing his checkbook, the Medic stepped out of the van. It didn't take him long to start fueling up his vehicle. The pump rattled worse than his empty van, but he managed to squeeze the last of its fuel out. He watched his sleeping teammates, the gears in his head kicking on. They could use water, no doubt. Perhaps food. He needed caffeine, especially if he was going to keep awake. He tried to avoid the substance as much as possible, but tonight was an exception. Someone had to keep alert and drive his van. As much as he trusted his teammates, he wanted to keep at the wheel tonight.

The pump finally clicked off. Setting the nozzle into its container, the Medic headed into the general store. It was a strange, hodge-podge shop. There were a few isles for groceries, a cooler for soda. The wooden floors looked to be a century old. Everything was coated in a generous layer of dust. The air reeked of tobacco smoke, something astonishingly unsafe. Men sat towards the back of the shop, playing card games and cursing each other's luck. They gave one dirty glance at the Medic, then continued their party.

A young man of Chinese descent was sitting at the register. He was bored, his eyes following the Medic around the small shop. Both men were amused with the other. It wasn't every day that a blood-splattered German entered the man's shop. The Medic smirked, observing the boy's poor posture. Perhaps he could get away with that now, but when he was older, he would not be so fortunate.

"You got gas out of the pumps out front?" the young man asked. "You are lucky. They are getting pulled out tomorrow. They leak."

The Medic smirked. "Lucky? Hmmph. Perhaps. Do you have any vater?"

The young cashier pulled a face. "To sell? Who would buy that?"

"If zere is some vay I could get vater, zat vould be appreciated. Zese sodas, zey are not so good at rehydration," the Medic explained. "I could also use a cup of coffee, if zere is any here."

The young man pointed towards a row of empty red tanks on one of the shelves. "Mister, you buy that, and I'll fill it up. Coffee will be fifty cents."

The Medic fetched the container for the cashier, as well as a few disposable cups. As he set to his work, the German also picked up a few chocolate bars. Even a good doctor had his weaknesses. Besides, his teammates could probably use the calories after the day they had been through. The young man was quick on his feet. He had the Medic's purchases totaled up in no time, and the German in turn paid him swiftly. The eyes from the back of the store were starting to wear him thin.

"What did you do to your van?" the young man asked.

The Medic cringed. While the weapons had been folded into the van and unloaded, the front of the Kombi was coated with a thick layer of dust and gore. The missing windows and ripped top did him no favors, either. He thought he looked rough enough. His van seemed like something assembled in Hell's factory line.

The Medic was short with his reply, "Nozzing."

The young cashier shrugged. "Let me know if you ever want to sell it. I'll give you four hundred for it, easily."

"Zank you," the Medic replied. The response was non-committal, bewildered. He didn't plan on stopping by this town again anytime soon. The day he'd part with his van was much further into the future than that.

The Medic parted ways with young Chinese cashier and the little town, not knowing or caring further about where he had stopped. It was another dying location, after all. Just a blip in the middle of nowhere, in a mostly-empty desert. Most folks didn't have a reason to pass through it. It would be surprising if the town lasted another twenty years.

/***/

It was deep into the rich, dark night before the Engineer woke up. The desert sky was peering through the Medic's Kombi. Indigo and white patterns streamed in through the holes. He found that he'd moved in his sleep, shifting away from the dispenser and next to the Heavy. The mighty Russian had his arms thrown around both the Texan and the Australian, snoring softly as he continued sleeping. He looked behind him for a moment, watching the Medic's stern, tired face take on a small smile. How that German could keep on trucking, he didn't know. He turned his head to side, then smirked as blue eyes watched him over the Heavy's stomach. Had Stretch just woken up, too?

They didn't say anything. They didn't need to. The Sniper licked his thumb, then reached over and scrubbed the Engineer's forehead. Not that it helped scrape any of the gunk off him. He still smiled, then reciprocated the action. They'd need a good shower when they got to Lakeside. A long one. A hot one.

"If you two are done cleaning each ozzer, zere is vater for you back zere. In ze red tank," the Medic said.

"Thanks, Doc. Where did you get that?" the Engineer asked.

The Medic replied, "Stopped in a little town. Got gas. Might as vell vake ze Heavy up, too. Ve are just about to Lakeside."

"Crikey, Doc. Ya could have let us help drive." The Sniper looked towards the Medic, observing the dark lines in the German's face. "Ya look moighty tired yerself."

The Medic smirked. "I vill sleep tomorrow, I zink. Our employers vill need to figure out vere to send us next. Zis little incident screwed up our schedule, you know."

"Doctor is stubborn man." The Heavy startled both the Engineer and the Sniper, speaking without opening his eyes. It didn't take much to wake him, apparently.

They spent the last leg of their trip sharing the supplies the Medic had purchased. After going most of the day without water, the liquid was as refreshing and cool as a mountain spring. It tasted a little sweet as well. That was probably their dehydration. Either that, or the chocolate. Its taste was intense as well, almost overwhelming.

A bright yellow building welcomed the four men to Lakeside. What surprised them more was the small gathering outside of the main barracks. Five men were sitting around, sharing drinks and napping under ratty blankets. The Kombi's light flashed across their faces, giving dead men new life. Each one's mouth cracked into a smile. As soon as the Medic stopped his van, they were swarmed by their teammates.

The Soldier was the first to tear into the van, then greet each of his friends. "You sons of bitches! You did it!"

"Nice to see you, too," the Engineer said. He wobbled upright, then undid the harness keeping him in the van. "Why didn't any of ya radio us? Could have saved us a lot of worryin'."

"Dude, wasn't me. I went ta go find it, right?" The Scout made a low whistle, his hand descending towards the ground. "Smashed into a billion pieces."

The Demoman scrunched up his face. "Must be the mummy ghosts, out wanderin' in the night, wreckin' our stuff."

"If I've told you once, Tavish, I've told you a million times! There is no such thing as a mummy ghost! It's impossible. You are either a mummy, or you are a ghost. You cannot be both!" The Soldier jumped off on a tangent.

The Pyro poked around the van, fascinated with the improvements. "Diff if pruddy fuffin fweed."

The Engineer smirked. "Thought I did a good job, myself."

"Anyone call Miss Pauling?" the Heavy asked.

The Spy shook his head. "She called us, saying zat you were coming back and to watch out for zose ozzer ruffians. All was fine, however." A yawn escaped him before he could put it aside. "Pardon me. I do not sleep well in ze out of doors."

The Sniper sighed, then gave the Frenchmen a light, sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Just can't get a good noight's rest without a mattress?"

"Pardon me. I forget you like sleeping in ze wild like a dog," the Spy shook his head.

The Medic brought his team together, pushing them towards the front door. "Now, now, zen. Ve should all get some rest, ja? Ve vill have much explaining to do in ze morning."

The Scout was quick to agree. "I've gotta get my beauty sleep. Ya know, for when Miss Pauling shows up."

Everyone nodded, concurring on that point. They usually had to keep clean for when the Administrator came calling, but they put more effort into being polite and well-dressed around Miss Pauling. It wasn't like she didn't know they were a bunch of mercenaries. Still, they wanted her approval, more so than the Administrator's. She was a central motivator.

Most of the group trudged up the stairs, heading off for their beds. The Heavy and the Medic were quick to hit the showers upstairs. The Engineer had the same energy, but paused for a moment. The Sniper was behind him, but not so enthusiastic. He was thinking hard, the lines under his eyes deeper than usual. A strange pang of guilt struck the Engineer. They'd had a net win for the day, sure, but the Sniper was going to be homeless until they could dig out his van. He had a few weapons on each base, as well as a few different uniforms. Heck, the guy could sleep anywhere. Still, he was forced out of his shell.

The Engineer walked back to the Sniper, drawing the Australian's attention. "Ya know, ya should get yerself cleaned up. I don't have much in the way of shampoo, but I've got some soap, if ya need it."

"Probably have ta take you up on it," the Sniper replied. A slow smile crept onto his face. "Think I've got a spare uniform in the storage 'round here. Should get that first. And—well, suppose I'll sleep in the infirmary tonight. Maybe the rec room."

That contagious smile passed to the Engineer. "Somehow, I don't think ya'll have ta worry about that."

/***/

It was well into the morning before the Administrator received another call. By that point, she had most of the rollers out of her hair and her makeup more or less done. In all honesty, she thought it was a little early. The team that had been left to take care of her little monsters wasn't the more brutal of the two that she managed. They were a little soft, a little slow. The team had the greater potential of the two when it came to strategy and cooperation, but easily manipulated by what made it strong.

Still, she was surprised to hear Miss Pauling on the other end of the line. "Good morning, Helen. I've got great news!"

The Administrator hid her surprise. "So, they're already done."

"Y-yes." She'd taken the wind out of her assistant's sails. "Well, I thought you would want to know."

"I suppose you haven't been able to see the damages yet?" the Administrator asked.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "No. I'll be visiting the Lakeside team today. We'll make the trip tomorrow."

"That is fine. I will contact the Coldfront team and make sure they are keeping in line, then." A dark tone slithered into the Administrator's voice. "I would hate to think that they are scheming away unchecked. Who knows what they might do if they get to their base in the Badlands first?"

The threat did not go unnoticed. "I'll see if I can motivate the Lakeside team into moving a little sooner. No promises."

"They have done well enough for now. I suppose. Have a nice day, Miss Pauling." Without waiting for a response from her assistant, the Administrator placed the receiver on the cradle once more.

A strange spark went off in the back of the Administrator's brain. It was hard to say what it was. The emotion was foreign to her, a rare visitor. Some sort of pity? A feeling of loss? Well, that was to be expected. Despite what had happened, she regretted having to put her pets down. Perhaps they had been too much for her to monitor. She returned to her vanity, mulling over that thought. Yes, that seemed right. Maybe next time, she'd go with something smaller. Poodles, perhaps.

Another epiphany came to her as the phone rang for the third time in two days. Pets were good for the common person. They gave people a sense of power, responsibility. Love, too, if they were into that sort of thing. If there was one thing the Administrator didn't need, it was a pet. Perhaps she had enough as it was. She had at least eighteen mercenaries of various types, a young woman, two old codgers that were only kept alive so she could maintain her power. If her intuition was right, she had one more waiting for her on the phone at that very moment. Pets were for the common man with no control over anyone else.

The Administrator picked up the phone, cooing to one member of her menagerie. "Good morning, Saxton."

/***/

Author's Note:

Probably not the strongest ending I've written, but this isn't the best story I've written, either. I just wanted this monkey off my back. This poor struggler's been hanging on since last December. I had little motivation to finish it, but by God, I did. I guess that shows some sign of improvement.

Sorry about the ship teasing. Had to be done. Maybe not, but I enjoyed it.

Might take a little break from writing longer stories for a while. Might do some one-shots. It seems like I lose my readers and my motivation when I do longer stories. Not feeling my strongest lately, as far as creativity goes. Maybe I need to let the wishing well refill. Helps to have other strong stories and groups to be with, too. Feeling isolated, lately. But that's my deal.

Sorry to have drug you along so long. Hopefully, this was satisfying enough.


End file.
